An Affair to Remember
by Lancer47
Summary: When two strangers wake up in bed together, but remember little of the night before will they be able to trust each other anytime soon? Add Dawn, Faith, and Gibbs to the plot, and then throw in a few vampires.  Now can they trust each other?
1. Chapter 1

**An Affair to Remember**

by

Lancer47

AKA

STFarnham

Crossover: NCIS & BtVS (with a hint of Picket Fences.)

-- -- --

_Author's Notes: I haven't noticed anyone else bring this particular couple together but I think they fit perfectly. I'm curious to see if any readers agree with me._

_Rated PG-13 for much innuendo with just a little description, and, in later chapters, violence._

_License: Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike license_

_Summary: When two strangers wake up in bed together, but remember little of the night before; will they be able to trust each other anytime soon? Add Dawn, Faith, and Gibbs to the plot, and then throw in a few vampires. Now can they trust each other?_

**Chapter One**

_Las Vegas, Nevada_

_Wednesday Morning_

_-- -- --_

I could detect warm light on the other side of my eyelids. I wasn't particularly inclined to open my eyes because of my pounding headache, as well as the gummy crud that seemed to have my eyelids glued shut. My head was resting on something soft. But when I rocked my head a little I could feel, well well, it appeared that I was resting my head on someone's chest. _Hello? This bears investigating._

I opened my eyes with some difficulty. I could feel the rasp of my right eyelashes brushing against – hmm, skin – as I forced an eye open, with much working back and forth of the eyelid. Bright sunlight filtered through sheets that were pulled over my head and the torso of the person I was resting on. I had trouble seeing anything at first, but when I finally got my eyes focused as well as I could without my glasses, my vision was filled with a lovely pair of rosy-tipped breasts. The light reflecting off this marvelous sight helped to make everything warm and inviting.

_Well Ripper_, I thought to myself, _it looks like you had a very good night indeed._

I closed my eyes to rest a little more. But after a few moments, an urgent question bubbled up from the depths of my muzzy head. _Whose breasts were these?_ Much depended on the answer. If the wrong woman were under me... I sidelined that thought when I realized that my left hand was nestled in an even more feminine environment than my head. As I moved my hand I was not surprised to get a startled reaction.

oo oo oo

_Oh my god_, I thought as I slowly woke up. _Did I get hit in the head with a hammer?_ As I contemplated my hangover, I suddenly realized that I was not alone in my bed. In fact, when I snapped my eyes open, I discovered that I wasn't even in my bed nor even in my room. It was unquestionably someone else's bed and that someone was brushing his eyelashes against my boobs for some reason. I looked down as best I could and saw the top of someone's head brushing against my chin. The rest of him was under the sheet, snuggled up against me, and I was utterly certain he was a male because I could feel the evidence draped over my leg. I gazed at his hair which was mostly dark with a touch of gray; just enough to be distinguished, at least what I could see from this angle. I could tell already that I hadn't hopped in the sack with anyone I knew – this could be very uncomfortable, potentially very very bad. Even in the best case this couldn't be good.

Quite suddenly I felt his hand move from between my legs. I started in surprise – somehow I didn't notice where his hand was until he moved it away. _Oh hell Jenny Maxine Shepherd_, I thought, _who did me last night and why can't I remember it?_ Would I be able to hold my head up when my unknown companion became known?

-- -- --

By now I was genuinely curious as to who it was that I had convinced to spend the night with me. So with some trepidation, I rolled off of her and came up from under the sheets to find a lovely forty-something redhead gazing at me with a studied expression. I gave silent thanks to the Powers-That-Be that she wasn't some random teenage Slayer. On the other hand, waking up naked with a stranger rarely leads to anything particularly wonderful, at least not in my experience. Especially when the evening before was so foggy and dim in memory. At least she didn't appear any more embarrassed than I. While I tried to think of something intelligent to say, I moved my right arm around to try and restart the blood flow. Apparently that arm had been trapped between us for a couple of hours.

"Ahh, hi, well, this is, uh, well isn't this awkward? I'm, I'm, Rupert Giles, and you are...?" I stuttered my way through an introduction of sorts. Not suave there Ripper.

"Ahh, hi, uh, Rupert. I'm Jenny Shepherd. So, uh, you're English?"

"Jenny?!" I fear the shock of hearing that name made me a little too vehement.

"Yes, Jenny. Although if you really don't like it you could call me Maxine or even Max," she replied, a little put out at me.

"Oh no no, Jenny is fine," I said, recovering what little _savoir-faire_ I could. "It was just a momentary wiggins, as some of my younger colleagues would say. I knew someone, some years ago, with that name."

"So. You're from England," Jenny/Maxine/Max said, apparently not wishing to explore the previous Jenny.

"Yes, and you're a colonist," I said, but she retorted with a furious glare. I continued as smoothly as I could, "That was rude of me, wasn't it? An American I should have said, since USian has never taken off."

She laughed charmingly; that was encouraging. So I smiled back and continued, "Do you remember much of last night? I fear my memory is a bit spotty this morning."

"Not much," she replied cautiously, "it would appear that we, ah, well, apparently there were alcoholic beverages involved. As far as what we did – hmm – perhaps we shouldn't dwell on our drunken exploits."

"Uninhibited my dear, we both imbibed over our natural limits, probably because of the delightful company that we kept, and simply lost our natural inhibitions. We are, after all, a gentlemen and a lady, not beer-swilling louts."

"Do gentlemen and ladies cavort wantonly with strangers who have imbibed too much beer?"

"Certainly. We English are far too reserved to have procreated otherwise."

She laughed again, then stopped and held her head. "Oh stop, it hurts too much!"

She sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest, and searched for some aspirin in her purse, handed three to me and downed several herself. The she plumped up a couple of pillows and leaned back against the headboard with a long-suffering sigh. The sheet fell to her waist, but she quickly pulled it up and tucked it around her torso under her arms while studiously avoiding looking in my direction. I wished she hadn't been quite so quick to cover herself, but I could see that she was uncomfortable, understandably so. I sat up next to her. As I sat back against the headboard with two more pillows, I spied something ominous in the gaping top of her overlarge handbag.

"Is that a pistol in your purse?"

She glanced to her right then looked back at me, "No, that's a handgun."

"I most humbly apologize for misidentifying your weapon, wait, is it made of plastic?"

"Yes, it's 9mm Glock 40."

"I thought those were mostly used be people trying to sneak their handguns past airport security."

"You'd be wrong. Glocks are detectable by x-ray and other, more classified, means. It's also a seriously good weapon, as it's reliable, rugged, and accurate. Many police forces use them."

"So, you're a police officer?"

"Federal Agent."

"FBI?"

"No, I'm the Director of NCIS."

"NCIS," I mused out loud, "National Central Intelligence Service, perhaps?"

"You've managed to get only one word out of four: it's Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

"And you are the director of this agency? The head honcho, as you Americans say?"

"Yes."

"Are you investigating me?"

"No," she replied frostily. "Please do me the courtesy of believing that I don't sleep with suspects. And I don't remember coming across your name, so I am not aware of any investigation of you." She paused and then added carefully, "Do you know of any reason why you might be the subject of a Federal investigation?"

"None that I'm aware of at the moment. I was a legal resident of California for a number of years and now I live in London, but I often fly back on business. I am certain that the FBI has a file on me, but I think that even the most paranoid would believe that we're on the same side. And I even have a letter of commendation from your president—not the current one, but a predecessor – for an incident that ended, umm, not well, but better than it might have if it weren't for my, uh, group."

"And what would your file say?"

"I'm so sorry, but it's highly classified."

"I have the highest clearance possible in the US Government, you can tell me."

"Have you ever heard the term, _'Need to Know'_? Some armed gentlemen and ladies from your government, but dressed rather more formally than you are at the moment, impressed upon me that I wasn't to bandy about the, uh, business in question, with anyone _at all_, who didn't have the need to know, regardless of their clearance. My civilian duties, on the other hand, I'm free to divulge." She glanced at her sheet covered body briefly, with the faintest of grins at my crack about clothing.

Then she frowned and said, "By all means, we shall honor the 'Need to Know' rule. Of course, since I've had intimate relations with you, by some interpretations I now have a need to know. But stop worrying Mr. Giles, I won't press you any further."

I looked at her – she looked back with a straightforward expression. I would become familiar with her direct way of looking at me. I finally said, "I believe my Victorian ancestors used formal honorifics when they addressed each other during the rare occasions that they shared the same bed. But I don't think we need to follow that particular stricture."

She laughed again, a little looser this time. Good, she was relaxing a little, finally. She had been holding herself as stiff as board until now.

"All right, I'll call you Rupert, and you can call me Jenny," she said.

"So Jenny," I said, "judging by the name of your organization, it would appear that you deal with wayward sailors. Actually, my work isn't so different, I spend a lot time dealing with wayward girls."

oo oo oo

"Wayward girls?" I repeated foolishly. I worried about him being involved in some sneaky, underhanded dealings with the CIA or Homeland Security. Both organizations existed seemingly to see how many ways they could frustrate other law enforcement agencies, especially mine. This development was dismaying, but maybe I was overreacting. And here I was flashing my tits to this foreign national – darn these silk sheets for being so slippery. But maybe he was legitimately employed. And maybe he did good work and merely supplied information to the proper authorities from having came across something criminal. I could only hope that was the case as I forced myself to sit back and relax.

"So ah," I asked uncertainly, "your organization runs an orphanage?"

"Not exactly. More like schools for gifted girls. My company is called Council Antiquities, Ltd., and we deal in very old things. Especially culturally important historical objects that have mythological overtones. We ended up opening schools for sss-, girls, sort of by accident. I dealt with your government when some of my people came across evidence of skulduggery some years ago."

"Well, that certainly sounds very noble. You say you run it?"

"Yes, my advancement to CEO was unforeseen due to most of the previous executives getting killed in a terrorist attack in London back in 2003. I was forced into the position simply because there was no one else available; not because I was particularly well suited for the job. I am sure you will be able to find out quite a lot of information about me once you get back to your office." He sounded a little bitter, as if my questions had taken the fun out of our time together. On the other hand, it was certainly convenient for his career that persons unknown had blown up all his rivals. This would bear investigating. But, I liked his looks, and I loved his accent. It didn't look like this would be too awful a morning. Although I'd certainly feel better if I could remember more of the night.

-- -- --

I had to smile at her as I said, "Although our private lives seem to be connected now, I believe our professional lives are worlds apart." She returned the smile but her stomach betrayed her with an unladylike rumble. We both laughed. Good, I thought, crisis passed.

She asked, "Shall we order room service? Breakfast in bed sounds wickedly delightful, even though I couldn't eat much besides Pepto-Bismol."

"Most mornings I would suggest we order up a large American breakfast for two. One of the bad habits I've picked up from spending time on this side of the pond, I fear. Unfortunately, my stomach is rebelling also. The very thought of food right now is quite sickening. Perhaps later."

"Yeah, but I could use some coffee and orange juice," she said as she turned to the bedside table to pick up a room-service menu. But something clicked loudly against the surface of the table as she reached under the menu. She put her hand up in front of her face and frowned in surprise. She looked at her ring it as if it were a UFO.

I said with barely disguised worry, "You're married?"

"Not for many years," she replied. "I've never seen this ring before." Then she yanked my hand up from where it had been resting comfortably on the sheets between us, "but you're a fine one to talk!"

I stammered in surprise, "Wha, where, what, but this is not mine!"

Both of us were shaken. We could read each other's thoughts at that moment. We looked around frantically and on my nightstand I found an official looking document. "Oh bugger!" I exclaimed, "we went and got married last night!"

We read the marriage certificate together. Then she hopped out of bed. She suddenly realized that she was completely starkers and grabbed the bed cover, wrapped it around herself with sharp angry motions, and stalked over to the dresser on the opposite wall. The exceeding quick glimpse of her body was rewarding, and I couldn't help but notice that she was as shapely below the waist as above. For a woman that was very near my age, she was extraordinary. She had an American home-town ex-cheerleader beauty and vitality that I found thoroughly bewitching; even if, or more likely, because, she was more mature than the hordes of young women that usually surround me since well before the collapse of the Hellmouth. I made a mental note to tell her how beautiful I found her as soon as circumstances allowed. But now seemed a bad time to make such a comment, what with her stalking angrily about the room within a few steps of her Glock. Besides, with my luck she's probably a master of some martial art or other. She picked up a large white album of some kind and asked, "Did you know about this?"

I shook my head no.

oo oo oo

I hopped out of bed and suddenly realized that I wasn't wearing a stitch. I was hardly a blushing bride, but I no desire to parade around naked in front of a stranger – even I had married him. So I grabbed the bedspread, hurriedly wrapped it around myself, and went over to the dresser where I had spotted an object of interest. As I suspected, it was a cheap kind of wedding album one might obtain from a cheap wedding chapel after a cheap and rushed wedding. I picked it up and turned to Rupert and asked him if he knew about it. He looked thoroughly baffled, so I walked back to the bed, barely able to contain my anger.

I sat next to Rupert—hmm, would I ever get used to his name? What sort of person would name their kid Rupert, anyway?—and pushed him over a bit. He noticed the cover of the album and frowned. I flipped it open and there was a large photograph of our wedding party. I could see my four-person security detail on one side of the room, watching everyone suspiciously, and a handful of young women on the other side who were warily eying my security agents. It was unusual for all four agents to be there, normally I only ever saw one at a time.

"Good god!" Rupert exclaimed, "What are those girls doing here? It would appear that our marriage is not a secret. May I assume that these people are friends of yours?"

"Yes. Well, not friends, they work for me. You see, I'm taking a week's vacation while I had the opportunity—there appeared to be a slow week on the crime front so I hopped a plane to Vegas. I've used so little vacation time over the years that I am in danger of losing it if I don't use some of it." I don't know why I felt it necessary to babble on, I guess I was feeling a little defensive about being a single woman vacationing alone.

Rupert said, "These young people shouldn't be here, some of them are too young to even be in Vegas, they should be in Cleveland."

I flipped pages and found a very well made photographic record of our drunken wedding. The photographer had caught the two of us stumbling around on a dance floor and staggering up the aisle together, in perfectly composed, sharply focused, correctly exposed, color 8x10 glossies. I groaned when I saw the life-size plastic Elvises on either side of the pulpit – the final tasteless touch of this unsought surprise wedding. It wasn't one of my finer moments, and glancing over at Rupert's expression of horror, not one of his either.

"So, what shall we do Rupert?" I asked.

"Ummm, ah, yes, well, I suppose we should get this annulled. The record in this volume should be ample proof that we were not sober at the time. On the other hand," he added with a twinkle in his eye, "I don't see any reason to rush down to the nearest judge, after all, we are both on vacation."

I laughed bleakly. Still, he was right. "Our uninhibited selves do have good taste, and while there's no rush, neither will we wait too long." My nose was suddenly assaulted with the unpleasant scent of dried sweat, whether mine or his I couldn't say. "I think I'll take a shower," I said. As he looked at me with hope in his eyes, I shook my head 'no'. I wasn't ready to take our relationship further, nor back to where we were during the night.

-- -- --

I would have liked to join her in the shower, but her body language didn't seem all that receptive so I didn't say anything. So I didn't use the shower until she was finished. It didn't bother her to pop back in the bathroom to get something while I was shaving though.

We then took turns dressing in the bathroom and I noticed that Jenny, (for the moment at least, _my wife,_ I reminded myself with some amazement) had come to my room prepared. Her overlarge handbag disgorged – along with her gun and the usual feminine paraphernalia that all woman thought they needed – a change of clothing appropriate for casual morning wear. I dug through my luggage until I found a pair of jeans – some designer label that had been a present from Buffy but rarely worn – along with a brightly colored cotton shirt with stripes, and a tweed jacket. I felt that I just wouldn't be me without one of my favorite tweeds but the shirt made me feel rakish and extravagant.

Jen was dressed similarly, except she wore a tailored rough-leather jacket, with her gun holstered at her waist under her jacket, FBI style. I gestured to her weapon, "Are you expecting trouble?"

"No, it's regulation. Besides, I've been carrying a gun for so many years that I'd feel naked without it." She blushed slightly and prettily when she noticed her word choice. Although what she had to blush about was beyond my understanding. "Oh," she continued, "you should know that I travel with security agents. Light security, but there should be an agent hanging around in the hall outside your door. They probably already know everything about you that there is to know."

"Oh joy, am I to have no secrets from you, at all?"

"Not many, sorry Rupert. In my own small pond I'm a good-sized fish – there's always a lot of eyes on me, and now they will be gazing at you too."

I frowned at that. I thought about warning her about my world – it would likely be a shock to her – but that would have to wait until proof was at hand. "And I suppose your agents have already broadcast the news about our nuptials to your office. So there's yet another reason to not rush to annulment."

"My security detail would say nothing, but I'm certain they made inquiries about you, and that may have let the cat out of the bag."

oo oo oo

I finished dressing and affixed my badge, gun and holster on my belt under my jacket. Rupert reacted negatively to my gun, of course. Civilians could be so clueless when it came to seeing the world as it really was. So when I mentioned that I felt figuratively naked without a gun, I was suddenly reminded that I had just spent part of the night rolling around both under and on top of the sheets with Mr. Rupert Giles. A man I had somehow married while in a drunken stupor just hours after meeting him! How did I get into this? I didn't understand how it could have happened. The last time I drank enough to cause memory problems and sex with strangers I was still in college. Except for that time with Jethro – but no, I won't go there now.

"There is one thing Rupert. My behavior last night, and I believe yours too, was erratic and out of character. I don't drink to excess and my impression is that it's not your usual habit either."

"You're quite right," he agreed.

"So, I think I need to take blood samples from both of us. Just in case we are the victims of some byzantine plot."

He frowned at me and said, "You, you could be right. Yes, where do we go to get tested?"

"I'll get a kit from my security detail and send off the results to my own lab. They will be kept private, you needn't worry on that score. And if there is anything to find, then you may rest assured that Abbey will find it. But we need to hurry, some of the drugs that I'm worried about are undetectable within hours of ingestion."

I ducked out the door and had a brief conversation with Agent Smith. He came back several minutes later with a sample kit, and both of us gave blood, saliva, and urine samples. Rupert seemed a little stiff when he came out of the bathroom, but didn't make any fuss. Then we went to breakfast.

-- -- --

At the breakfast room we walked with exaggerated care to an out of the way booth, as far from the smells of food as possible, and sat opposite each other.

"This would be perfect if only I could get a decent cup of tea," I commented.

"This is Las Vegas," said Jenny, "you can get anything in Las Vegas. Surely it can't be that hard to get good tea. After all, it's not even illegal."

"We'll see," I said with a frown as a scantily clad waitress walked up to our booth. Good lord, I thought as I stared at her abbreviated costume, isn't this just a coffee shop?

We ordered coffee and tea, plus a few croissants. That would be about as much food as either of us could stomach.

"You know," said Jenny with a twinkle, "it's not generally considered smooth for a newly-wed husband to stare at half-naked women."

"Ah," I replied, "I was just surprised that a hotel coffee shop would dress their waitresses with such parsimony."

"This is Las Vegas, Rupert, not Salt Lake City. We should be grateful they're not topless. I gather this is your first visit here?"

"Yes, except for passing through. And if I didn't have business here, I wouldn't have stopped this time."

"What brought you here?"

"Oh, let's not talk business, I'm vacationing now so let's relax." This wasn't a good reply, but the fact was, I had no idea what I was doing Las Vegas. But from my – ahem – wedding pictures, I knew I was in the company of a pack of Slayers along with Faith and Dawn. There must have been an ulterior clandestine reason for this visit, but I was dammed if I could remember what it could have been.

I looked at Jenny and I could see by her expression and posture that she wasn't satisfied with my answer. And this was a woman used to getting answers, who had the power of the United States Government to back her up. I wasn't familiar with this NCIS, but I'm certain one couldn't advance to the directorship of such an agency by being a dull and incurious layabout. How the bloody hell did did I end up married to this woman?

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**An Affair to Remember**

by

Lancer47

AKA

STFarnham

_See Chapter One for Disclaimer & Notes_

_You don't need to be familiar with NCIS (the show) to enjoy this, although you may miss some subtleties of personality, you needn't worry about it. I put an appendix at the end of this chapter which explains a little more about the show._

**Chapter Two**

_Northern Virginia_

_Early Thursday Morning_

It was an hour past midnight in a peaceful upscale neighborhood. A few cars were parked along both sides of the wide winding street. All the houses had freshly cut lawns and perfectly trimmed shrubbery. Even though the hour was late, it wasn't especially dark: the streetlights were reasonably bright and the the moonlight was even brighter. High clouds caught by high altitude winds rushed in front of the moon, giving the moonlight a moving mottled effect on the ground. Most of the houses were equipped with dim outside porch lights, and a few upstairs windows here and there were still lit from within. The entire block was still except for a couple of cats nosing about curiously. One of the cats suddenly shied away from the house she was approaching and ran across the lawns in the opposite direction in that curious gait that felines employ when they move in a hurry. The other cat sniffed the air and swiftly turned tail to run after the first.

Two dark shapes slunk alongside the house, apparently having walked through the yards from the street behind. One nearly tripped over a sleeping dog which woke angrily. But the dog's deep growl quickly turned to a yip and it disappeared into the house through a medium sized pet-door. They stepped up to the kitchen door and knocked. A young child appeared behind the glass. She looked out curiously and opened the door.

"Who are you?" she asked fearlessly.

"Oh, hi, aren't you the cutest thing! What are you doing up at this hour? Shouldn't you be in bed?" ask the female stranger.

"I was just getting some milk. I'm thirsty but I wanted more than water. What are you doing out now?"

"Our car broke down and we wondered if we could come in and use your phone?" said her male companion.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I'd better ask my mom first," she said. After a short pause she added curiously, "What kind of car is it?"

"Huh? Oh, the car, well, it's a sports car. But really, you don't have to wake up your mom. We'll just zip in, use your phone, and be gone before you know it." Then, much softer and as gently and persuasively as she could, she added, "_Just invite us in._"

"A sports car! Does it go fast? What kind? Is it a convertible? What color is it?"

"Umm, it's a red Corvette, and it goes really fast. If you invite us in I'll take you for a ride!"

"Wow! Is it a new one? Does it have leather seats?"

"It's a—"

"Hey! What's going on down here?!" A authoritative male voice interrupted the car talk.

"Oh, daddy, these people have a Corvette and they need a mechanic!" the little girl announced proudly.

"What are you doing up so late Sammie? Don't you have school tomorrow?"

"Yeah, but I wanted some milk."

"Hmmm," he hmmmed, then turning he approached the door suspiciously and glared at the strangers. He looked over their shoulders and didn't see any Corvettes parked on the street. "Where's your car?"

"Down the block, behind that big pickup," the girl pointed.

He fairly radiated authority and was bigger than both of the strangers, so he felt confident that he could easily keep control. Besides, if they were dangerous they would have already made their move, but they were just standing politely outside the open door. So he said, "Well, OK then, come on in. The phones over there."

"Thank you ever so much sir," said the male as he morphed into his vampiric visage, growled loudly, then attacked. The female vampire grabbed at the girl but little Samantha ducked with a shriek and dived out through the doggie-door like greased lightning. Just then, another girl, a teenager, screamed at them and attacked ferociously. She was joined by two more people, the girl's mother and her father's brother.

If anyone had been standing on the sidewalk, they would have heard horrific screams and howls, loud blasts from a shotgun and the simultaneous bright flashes would have been visible through the window. But no one was on the sidewalk or anywhere nearby and so there wasn't anyone to see anything. But the nearest neighbors heard the shotgun blasts and called the police. A minute later and all was quiet again, except for the sound of someone crying. It was perhaps twelve minutes later when police and ambulance sirens broke the night.

Jethro Gibbs was in the middle of a dream, his little girl bouncing on his knee and laughing happily in golden sunlight, his wife doing something wifely in the kitchen, and his Golden Retriever sitting at his side looking at him dogfully, when he heard a phone ringing. In his dream he said 'Honey, would you get that?' but the ringing wouldn't stop. The sunlight abruptly disappeared and all he could see was the green numerals of his clock – 2:48 AM – shining against the dark. He reached heavily for the phone across the empty bed.

"Gibbs," he said gruffly into the receiver. The impulse to add some sarcastic comment about the hour and how it'd better be good had burnt out years ago. He knew from experience that calls at this time of the morning were almost always important. And almost always concerned death, violent death usually.

He listened for a few moments and said, "Right detective, secure the scene, stop processing, don't let anyone go, but continue searching. I'll be there in, uh, about thirty minutes. Some of my team may get there sooner."

By 3:30 in morning Gibbs was driving along the still quiet streets of a suburb in northern Virginia called Virginia Hills Village. He drove at the speed limit – he saw no reason to hurry. He sipped his coffee appreciatively, savoring the deep taste of his favorite dark roast. He wasn't looking forward to the murder scene, but he did derive great satisfaction from putting murderers away, and that's what got him through the bloody sights in first place. He knew these last few minutes in his car would be the last quiet he would experience for many hours. So he was determined to enjoy them.

Flashing police lights disturbed the quiet atmosphere from three blocks away. So he flicked on his flashers. All too soon he pulled up in front of a two story house with fake wood columns stuck uselessly on the front.

He got out, still nursing his coffee, and nodded at a plain clothes police officer. "Gibbs, NCIS."

"Stihl, Homicide." They shook hands, the way each had greeted hundreds of other police in similar circumstances at odd hours of other nights: guarded, serious, trying to compartmentalize the corpses. Detective Stihl wasn't particularly worried about jurisdiction or who would be the one to catch the perps. He had plenty on his plate already and his captain would be positively gleeful at being able to pawn off a homicide on someone else without having another 'uncleared' to mess up his statistics.

"Let's see what we've got," said Gibbs.

They walked up to the side entrance of the house. At the door Gibbs could see DiNozzo and Ziva working the scene. DiNozzo looked up and said, "Hey boss. McGee went to the hospital to check on the living vics."

Gibbs nodded. He looked at the scene and added two more violently dead people to his internal catalog of horrors. One adult male, about forty-five. One woman, perhaps forty. Dressed in pajamas. A puddle of blood where one of the survivors lay before getting help. There was an odd accumulation of rather coarse dust in the middle of the kitchen floor and the island counter. There were blood spatters here and there, but overall there was less blood than he would have expected. There was an astonishing amount of damage though. Shotgun blasts had left huge holes in the cabinetry, cabinet doors were hanging by broken hinges, shards of broken glass and china were spread all over, chairs upended and crushed, even the granite counter was broken in places. Gibbs could hardly credit his eyes when he noticed what looked like a large blood-filled crack in the floor, as if someone's head had hit the floor hard to break the heavy Spanish tile.

Ziva, pointing to the male corpse, said, "This is Captain Crandell, USN, attached to Sealift Command at the Pentagon. His wife, also Captain Crandell, USNR, a nurse at Bethesda." She paused a moment and continued with a slight catch in her throat, "They are survived by their daughters, Samantha Crandell, age nine, at present still missing. And sixteen year old Heather Crandell, who helped to fight off their attackers along with Captain Crandell's younger brother, yet another Captain Crandell, Harrison Crandell, USMC. He was on his way to his new duty station on the USS Eisenhower. He's here visiting for the weekend before heading to join his ship. It looks like he was the last to jump in the fight and he took some heavy injuries – it wouldn't surprise me greatly to discover that he's the one who drove off the attackers. He is in surgery now, I believe. Heather was very shook up, but appeared to be physically OK. She's at the hospital too. According to Detective Stihl, she wasn't very forthcoming with her description of the attack, understandably, I guess. We haven't seen any sign of the attackers yet."

Detective Stihl added, "We've got uniforms going house to house, plus patrol cars in both an expanding search from this block and others from twenty blocks out searching in. So far, no Samantha, no bad guys, no joy."

Gibbs stepped outside with the detective. Stihl said, "You know, I've been a murder-police for about eight years, on the job for a total of sixteen years, and I've never seen a crime scene quite like this one."

"It does have some anomalies, don't it?" agreed Gibbs, "not enough blood, not enough corpses, and not enough injured to account for the observable damage."

Stihl nodded in agreement. They both looked over towards the street as a restored Morgan Roadster was waved through the police cordon and pulled up to the curb. Dr. Mallard struggled with the door until he got it open and grabbed his bag from the left-hand seat. With a cup of coffee in his right hand, he strolled up to the door and shook his head at the sight.

"Ducky."

"Jethro," they greeted each other laconically.

Gibbs let everyone else work while he wandered around and observed. He noticed a couple of business cards pinned to a small bulletin board by the phone. One read:

_Council Antiquities, Ltd._

_Dawn Summers_

_Research and Acquisitions_

The other card said:

_Council Antiquities, Ltd._

_Rupert Giles, CEO_

_ISWC_

There were addresses for Cleveland and London, along with several phone numbers. He made sure Ziva photographed and collected them for evidence.

Finally he said, "DiNozzo, you're in charge here. I want the entire house, garage, cars and the whole property searched with fine tooth combs. Exteriors and interiors. Don't forget the woods out back. I'm heading to the hospital to talk to the survivors. Carry on."

Outside in the dark, at the rear of the backyard, where a small offshoot of forest bordered the property, a little girl lay under some bushes, shivering in terror. A cat came up to her and enthusiastically butted it's head against hers. She reflexively grabbed the cat and buried her face in its fur, "Oh Fluffy, they're all dead!" she cried.

TBC

_Appendix:_

NCIS (Naval Criminal Investigative Service) is a better than average cop show, basically. Their beat is the U. S. Navy – both crimes by servicemen as well as crimes against them. The TV show gives us a special team of four Agents, led by Mark Harmon. The director of the agency is played by Lauren Holly, who used to play deputy sheriff Maxine Stewart on Picket Fences from 1992.

And for those who missed it, Agent Jethro Gibb's backstory is that his first wife and child were murdered by drug dealers. Gibb hunted down the guilty parties and executed them, and managed not to get caught. He married and divorced four more times before the first episode. But he has been shown to still have dreams and nightmares about his first family.


	3. Chapter 3

**An Affair to Remember**

by

Lancer47

AKA

STFarnham

_See Chapter One for Disclaimer & Notes_

**Chapter Three**

_Las Vegas, Nevada_

_Wednesday Afternoon_

oo oo oo

After our 'brunch' consisting of about a half a croissant each, I looked at him from across the coffee shop table over my cup, "So Rupes, what do you want to do? I have four days; Monday I need to be back Washington, but until then, I believe I could stand your company, I mean if you twisted my arm just a little." I smiled at him. Even though I hadn't known him for very long, I found that I was happy to be with him, even to the point of maybe sharing his bed again, except this time consciously. In fact, I was looking forward to it, if the truth be told. Still, I didn't want to appear too forward.

"First my dear, I prefer Rupert or Giles. Actually, most of my friends, acquaintances, family and enemies as well, call me Giles; it is, after all, a perfectly fine first name for many people. Although I rather like the sound of Rupert from you. Second, four days and nights together sound good to me, too. I just need a few hours of time on my dread laptop, say Saturday morning, and I'll be good until Sunday night."

Well, I hoped he wasn't taking for granted any idea that I was going to hop in bed with him without some effort to romance me first. I mean, I'm pretty sure he'll be able to persuade me, I just didn't like him assuming anything. And he's picky about what I call him, then again, if he's taking the time to tell me what he likes, I suppose that falls on the plus column.

" 'Dread Laptop'?" I asked, "are we being a little Old World?" A little old fashioned Rupes dear?

"Yes, we are," he answered with a grin, "although I am forced to admit, at least under duress, that computers are useful. Much against my will I find myself e-mailing and even researching." He sighed hugely, "As well, it's ever so much easier to carry a single laptop than my entire library. If only the machine smelled like old books, I'd be happy, or at least happier."

"You know, Rupert Giles, you're the only man I've ever met who uses a shaving brush and straight razor, so I'd say you're really modernizing yourself with your computer." I wasn't ready to tell him this, but the fact was, watching him prepare his old-fashioned shaving tools, and then shave with a straight razor, all the while dressed only in a large white towel wrapped around his waist, was quite a turn-on. For a man who must be fifty-something, he had good shoulders, and just the right amount of chest-hair. I couldn't help but notice he hadn't let himself go to flab, unlike most men his age. I wondered if it was time to welcome a man into my life again; for the first time in I don't wish to think about how many years.

"Well," he said, "my razor was a gift from my father on my sixteenth birthday, it's British steel, hand made. And the brush is a genuine badger hair brush that I inherited from my grandfather. It's all part of who I am."

"I find it quite intriguing actually. But it must make flying difficult."

-- -- --

I wondered how to tell her about the magical spell that hid my straight razor from the TSA busybodies. As well as the rest of my travel weapons. _Perhaps,_ I thought carefully, _I should not tell her_. My eyes involuntarily dropped to her chest and I briefly admired the way she filled out her shirt and jacket. And of course, I could remember the view _sans_ clothing – and from a very close vantage point too. After a few seconds I had to tear my eyes away so as not to appear too boorish. That's when I noticed Dawn and Faith having lunch on the other side of the coffee shop.

"The third thing I must do dear Jenny, is confer with my colleagues. I need to find out what's been going on in my absence."

She looked at me and nodded agreement. "But first I have an idea, let's go find a spa – they must have one around here," she said with a negligent wave that took in the whole hotel, "and soak in a hot tub and use the steam room for awhile, then we might feel like eating, then we'll see what we feel like doing."

"That sounds heavenly," I answered. I had caught Jenny looking speculatively at me, and she had a certain spark in her eye that suggested she was ready to... But I didn't want to put a jinx on our short time together by daydreaming too much. I would just play it from moment to moment. It looked to me as if we were destined to spend a few days, and maybe, just maybe, a few nights together. I would have to dredge up long unused romantic skills to persuade her – I hoped I would be up to the task. Of course, romancing a beautiful woman doesn't exactly fall under the heading of drudgery and toil, does it? I wondered if it was going to help or not that we were technically married?

And then, come Monday morning we would visit a judge and go our separate ways. Of course, a far worse scenario would include her getting overly suspicious of my more obscure activities and go off on an investigatory fishing expedition in the International Slayers and Watchers Council. I really didn't need more government in bed with me, just Jenny.

I paid the tab in the coffee shop, surreptitiously waggled a couple of fingers at Faith, then we wandered around until we found the hotel's steam room and swimming pool complex. A couple of hours later we came out freshly dressed and thoroughly refreshed. That steam room and massage was genuinely rejuvenating. I briefly wondered about the feasibility of adding a steam room to the Watcher's Council Headquarters – that would surely make old Quentin grumble in his grave. But then I thought about just who would want to join me in the new steam room: Andrew. I dropped that idea in a hurry. We parted company at the lift, she went to one of the hotel's stores to do some shopping, and I went down the corridor to where I had spotted Faith. She greeted me a little sheepishly, and asked me to follow her to Dawn's room.

Once there, both of them seemed evasive. I said, "Right, what did you two do? What happened last night?"

"You don't remember the evening, at all?" asked Dawn, a little worried about something.

"No, just some of the night. And, oh yes, I woke up married! Just what happened!" I let out just a little of Ripper.

"Well, we were wiping out that Vampire Cult..."

I interrupted plaintively, "WHAT VAMPIRE CULT? And why can't I remember it?"

"Well Giles, that's why we came to Las Vegas in the first place. We heard rumors of some sort of a supernatural cult. It turned out that a _Churash_ demon had managed to flam-flam a bunch of vampires to do her bidding; they were robbing and murdering and had been noticed by local authorities and this just wouldn't do. So we, and a few junior slayers, came out here, investigated, found the nest of vampires and the demon, and slayed them. But in the middle of the fight, in walked a stranger. Well, she's not a stranger anymore since you married her. But last night it was really dicey for minute or so. She's a very brave woman; apparently she heard the fight, drew her gun and jumped in the middle of it. You and Faith saved her life from the vampires, which didn't respond to her bullets the way she expected. Unfortunately, she went ballistic after we explained about vampires and things and was getting ready to call the Pentagon and order in the Marines, and maybe an air-strike too. You know we had to do it Giles, I mean, even now, you know we had to."

I sighed, "Spell it out, precisely what did you do?"

Dawn glanced guiltily at Faith, who nodded 'go ahead'. "Well you see Giles, we used a combination of witchcraft and pharmaceuticals to remove certain memories from Director Shepherd."

Faith added, "Yeah, a memory charm reinforced with GHB."

I was staggered. I said, "You mean you slipped a date-rape drug to the head of a Federal Agency!? How could you be so irresponsible?!"

"Well no," said Dawn miserably, "I didn't, you did."

"Oh that's just great," I exclaimed furiously, "she married me while under the influence of GHB. Once they figure out that I fed her the drug, I'll end up deported to Guantanamo Bay – condemned as a terrorist. I can't wait for the jack-booted thugs from Homeland Security to show up and read me my rights – oh wait, they don't extend rights to citizens of other countries anymore, do they!?"

"GILES! That's not gonna happen, really, we won't let it get that far!" said Dawn anxiously, "and besides, both of you were under the influence, and it wasn't really GHB, it was a derivative that Willow developed."

"And who gave ME the drugs? Why don't **I** remember any of this?"

"Well you see, I gave you a little bit, too. But just a little, just to calm you down! Really, it's good stuff!"

Faith added, "Chill G, a lotta people take a lot more'n what you got just for fun."

I shot Faith a glance strong enough to scorch paint, but the damn girl was fireproof.

Dawn continued, "And besides, what I gave you wouldn't have been anywhere near enough to cause memory loss. That happened because we were in the lounge, in a booth, with Faith trying to spike the drink, and people talking drunkenly at each other just behind us, and me trying to weave Willow's spell around your companion without being obvious about it, well, apparently you came under the influence of the memory-wiping spell but just the fringes and, it was just a big cluster of badness, wasn't it? But in the end, it worked out, didn't it? I mean, this marriage thing was an unintended consequence, but surely you can get it annulled?"

"And just what were we doing at this busy bar? Why would Director Shepherd be in such a place? Or me either, for that matter."

"Well you see," Dawn explained earnestly, "we started with a temporary memory spell to quickly get things under control, you know, using Lethe's Bramble since it was readily available. But as we all know that particular spell isn't very selective, memorywise. So we got her under a suggestive _geas_, suggested you get a couple of drinks because those security agents of hers had caught up and were watching so we couldn't go to our room – we just turned into the lounge as if we intended to all along. Then I kicked in the memory charm and Faith administered the altered GHB. Then I broke the crystal to lift the original spell. It was purely by accident that you got tangled up with Ms. Shepherd the rest of the night. I still don't know how that happened." Dawn sighed heavily, "It seemed like such a good plan last night."

"Dawn, do you know what my trusting wife did this morning, do you?"

"Er, no," said Dawn.

"She took samples of blood and urine, from both of us, and sent it to her agency's lab for testing. She is quite convinced that some unknown persons slipped both of us drugs, and is determined to find out. If the results of that blood test show the presence of GHB, she could bring in a hundred Federal Agents, and THE SHIT WILL HIT THE FAN!"

"Oh gosh Giles, we'll take care of it! I'll get Willow on it!"

"She's already on it Dawn, I called her last night, remember?" said Faith.

"And besides," said Dawn, "the GHB was a really low dose, and it wasn't real GHB anyway. The dose was lower than recreational use, way lower than for, ah, um, nefarious purposes. Really, Willow developed it to boost the effectiveness of her new memory charm and allow the spell to be aimed towards just the right memories without willy-nilly wiping other random memory you know how Willow is about that, right? And you helped us talk her into that line of research anyway because you agreed we needed better way to wipe specific memories just in case and anyway, it should've worked just fine, should've had fewer side effects than either magic or drugs alone, and it should be metabolized by now – it was such a small amount. Really, GHB is quite a nice drug, the FDA has demonized it beyond reasonableness and we used something similar to but not quite the same as GHB anyway so I'm sure, I think, that they couldn't detect it and wouldn't know how anyway." She finally had to stop just to catch her breath.

"I'm going to ignore your attempt to rationalize your irresponsible behavior. And where did you get it, anyway?"

Faith said, "I found it on the street."

"You mean just lying in gutter somewhere?"

"No, no, I mean I went and bought some from a street vendor, it was easy to find."

"I'll just bet it was. And did you check the purity of this street pharmaceutical?" 

"Well, sure, since I had to purify and filter it through a catalyst as per Willow's mods. Of course, it might have been a mistake to mix it with alcohol."

"Oh yes?"

"Yeah, I didn't realize it yesterday, I just found out this morning that GHB can cause a bunch of nasty side-effects when mixed with alcohol. So that was definitely a mistake," said Dawn with a woebegone expression. "I wish Willow had mentioned that in the directions."

"So why did I agree to this travesty?" I asked with a glare.

Faith found something fascinating on the ceiling and wouldn't look me in the eye. Dawn glanced this way and that and finally said, "Well, we didn't mention it to you. I thought it would be better – oh hell, I can't lie to you Giles. I knew you'd react this way, so I just made an executive decision and did it. OK, happy now?"

I just looked at her until she had to look away. I lowered my voice to force her to listen more carefully, and told her with exaggerated calm, "Dawn, it would have been better not to use any illegal drugs, especially without my knowledge."

Was this a generational difference? Were they really that casual about mind-altering drugs? Was I really that upset about it? Who the hell was I trying to kid? In my Ripper days Ethan and I would have ignored GHB completely – nothing that safe and mild would have been good enough for us! On the other hand, I am older and I hoped at least a little wiser. Not a good time to remind Dawn and Faith about Ripper and Ethan. "Now, what's Willow doing?"

"She's checking out Ms. Shepherd and her agency..."

"_Mrs_. Giles," I interrupted as rudely as I could.

"Um, yeah, Mrs. _Giles_. Although I suppose she's going continue to use Shepherd as her professional name. Well, anyway," Dawn continued hurriedly, "Willow is finding out all she can about this NCIS outfit. I'll call her in a minute and see if she can track the blood sample shipment, maybe she can shazam the samples or, failing that, put the whammy on the lab results."

I calmed down, even though I didn't want to, even though I wasn't at all convinced that setting Willow on a collision course with a Federal crime-fighting Agency was necessarily the best idea I'd heard that morning, but I couldn't think of another course of action. I tried to think of other things to do, but it had already gone far beyond anything I could control. I felt like I was in a slow-motion crash – helplessly watching the landscape spin around me as my car headed for a cliff. If I hit the brakes would I come to a stop teetering at the edge or would I skid off into space? I looked at them both. They seemed sincere in their desire to make things right.

I asked, "If both Ms. Shepherd and I were under the influence of drugs, spells, and alcohol, why did you, my former students, my current friends and colleagues, allow the wedding to go forth? You were in the wedding party, I've seen the pictures!"

"Um, you and Jenny disappeared from the lounge, all laughing and stuff. When we realized you guys weren't just visiting the restrooms, we tracked you down with a _locator_ spell and got to the Wedding Chapel just as you were walking up the isle. I tried to stop the proceedings right there, but then the then the other NCIS Agents had caught up with Ms. Shepherd and we were uncomfortable adding yet more people to the memory charm. Besides, they were _armed_ Special Agents, a real paranoid bunch and I didn't want to take the chance of pissing them off any more than they already were and I didn't want to find out why Federal Agents are so Special anyway. The wedding thing just grew faster than we could contain. But really, the important part was taken care of; Director Shepherd remembers nothing about any vampires, and that's what's important, right?" Dawn said.

I shook my head silently. "Dawn, surely there were other options than drugs and memory spells. I mean, we do have contacts."

"But Giles! You don't remember! She was really freaked out! Your attempts to calm her down were going nowhere! You actually gave me the go-ahead to use the new spell!"

What an unmitigated mess. This is what I get for messing about with people's memory, and I didn't even remember doing it! But the concept of removing specific inconvenient memories was so seductive that it was easy to lose sight of our common sense. Well, there was literally nothing for it but to forge ahead. And besides, the one bright spot in this whole affair was Jenny Shepherd. I very much enjoyed her company. Except I suppose I had best get used to thinking of her as Mrs. Giles, for the rest of the week anyway.

I looked down and noticed a short curly red hair snagged under a fingernail of my left hand. I surreptitiously removed it, but both Dawn and Faith were clearly pretending not to have noticed. I sighed heavily. No matter what happened next, this whole affair would provide material for my companions to wind me up for years to come.

oo oo oo

Instead of going shopping like I had told Rupert, I went to the hotel's business center and found an empty room that I could use. I signaled Agent Smith to follow me. I waved him to a seat across the table from me. I said, "OK, tell me what happened last night, from your point of view."

He looked a little nervous, like he felt guilty about something. He said, "Well ma'am, after you had dinner at the hotel, and played a hand of cards in the casino for a very short time, you came out for a walk. At your request I walked with you while Agent Pournelle followed at a distance. We walked a few blocks off the strip and went in a department store. As you went further into the ladies section, I elected to wait by the entrance for you to finish. But, you didn't come back, you must have left by a different entrance."

He seemed to blame me for ducking him, and was simultaneously upset that he allowed his own discomfort to prevent him from following me into the lingerie department. But I didn't remember this. Although I do know that Smith was a lot more straight-laced and uptight than most NCIS Special Agents, so it didn't surprise me to discover that I had apparently tried to rattle him a little. I actually did have one memory bubble up: Agent Smith blushing furiously as we passed a display of mannequins dressed in tiny little scraps of very expensive underwear. That's when he asked to wait for me by the front door, and I took pity on him and said, _sure_. But why didn't I go back out where he was waiting when I finished my shopping? And, did I buy anything, if so, where was it?

"So, again from your viewpoint Agent Smith, what happened next?" I asked.

"After I waited about half an hour I got worried. So I called your cell phone, and got no answer. I immediately called the rest of the detail and we set about tracking your phone's GPS coordinates. It took us about forty-five minutes to find you, going into the hotel bar, with a man, a Mr. Rupert Giles, and a couple of young women. We were relieved to find you safe so we settled down, knowing that you were on vacation, and having a good time. We faded into the background, like good security men, and watched to make sure you were undisturbed. Then, about an hour later, you and Mr. Giles disappeared again. We thought you ditched us on purpose," he looked at me reproachfully, "and commenced to track your phone again. This time we found you in the wedding chapel, maybe thirty minutes later. We would have stopped the wedding right there, since you were, uh, well, had just a little too much to drink, we thought, but we were too late. There was nothing left to do but research Mr. Giles' background and let, uh, let, um, nature run its, uh, course."

Agent Smith's prudish nature led him to stutter a little, but his narrative was instructive. Now I knew that there was a total of one and a quarter hours unaccounted for last night. Time when something happened to me. Since I was apparently _non-compos-mentis_ for that missing time, I didn't wish to allow anyone to know about it because it might impact me professionally. Somehow or other, I had to bullshit my way through this with my own people, while at the same time, investigate on my own. What a mess! Although I hopes that, in the end, Mr. Giles would prove to be a stand-up guy – but I wouldn't make any assumptions.

I thought about checking in with NCIS by phone and nosing around. But, I was on vacation and I had my own little mystery to solve. So I'd let Jethro handle things without me for a few more days. Besides, I didn't want to mention this marriage of mine until it was over. Although I did log onto the NCIS private website to check my email and check on current investigations. I still had the responsibility to stay on top of things even when I wasn't there.

TBC

_Author's note: I just realized that I borrowed the GHB concept from Veronica Mars. It was unconscious and unintended while I was writing it; I guess the idea was just laying there in the back of my head so I picked it up and used it. Well, it's too late to change now, the rest of the plot depends on this chapter._


	4. Chapter 4

**An Affair to Remember**

by

Lancer47

AKA

STFarnham

_See Chapter One for Disclaimer & Notes_

**Chapter Four**

_Las Vegas_

_Late Thursday Morning_

-- -- --

I woke up from a sound sleep feeling contented, well rested, and at one with world. I looked over at Jennifer, my wife for a few more days anyway, as she opened her eyes and smiled at me.

"And how are you this fine morning Mrs. Giles?" I asked with a broad grin.

"I'm excellent, Mr. Giles, and hungry, I might add."

"I'm not at all surprised, we certainly must have burnt up quite a few calories last night. Shall we bathe and find some food?"

"Works for me."

Neither one of us was ready to continue our frantic love-making into the morning, the energy just wasn't there. But we did have a languid, exploratory bath in the most peculiarly shaped tub I had ever seen. After the bath, she took an interest in my shaving – watching me carefully run my freshly stropped blade up my neck and over my chin. It was strangely intimate. When I suggested that she allow me to shave her legs sometime, she actually started to hyperventilate. I could feel my own pulse increasing, too.

Afterwards, we went down to breakfast. This time we went all out: Eggs Benedict, coffee, orange juice, cantaloupes, bacon, a variety of breads, it just went on and on and the company made everything taste even better than usual. Then we decided to take a stroll around the gardens to work off the food.

oo oo oo

As we walked around the botanical garden, I was thinking about my night with Rupert, I mean, how could I not? I hadn't had a night like that in too long to think about. So when my damned phone buzzed I was very put out. But, duty calls, so I answered, "Shepherd."

I listened for a minute then replied, "Keep me informed Gibbs, call Agent Smith any time day or night when you have updates." And hung up. Important to know about an attack in Virginia, yes. Did I need to know all the details? No. Did I need to fly back? No. _Excellent_, I thought.

-- -- --

As we trod the path through the flower display, I was thinking about my night with Jenny, I mean, how could I not? I hadn't got my ashes hauled like that in too long to think about. So when my damned phone rang I was very put out. But, duty calls, so I answered, "Giles."

I listened for a minute then replied, "Keep me informed Xander, call Faith any time day or night." And hung up. Important to know about an attack in Virginia, yes. Did I need to know all the details? No. Did I need to fly back? No. _Excellent_, I thought.

oo oo oo

I decided the rest of the weekend would truly be a vacation. I asked Rupert to clear his schedule, and I would do the same. I put my phone on 'Take a Message', then I added Agent Smith's number to my recorded message, then I signaled Agent Smith over and instructed him to answer all calls, forward anything to me that he felt couldn't wait until Tuesday morning, but otherwise don't bother me. I would only answer his calls, that way, I wasn't completely out of touch, but with any luck, I wouldn't be bothered for anything less than a direct attack on a Navy ship. He nodded expressionlessly, and said he would pass the word to the others. Then Rupert and I disappeared into our room and didn't come out until Monday morning.

-- -- --

I called Faith on her cell and told her not to bother me until Monday morning for anything less than an apocalypse, and even then, only if it was imminent. She laughed knowingly and told me to have fun. Dawn and the rest of the junior Slayers had already left for Cleveland, a quick look at my inbox showed nothing important, so I closed the door behind me, closed the computer, and joined Jen. We didn't come out of the room until Monday.

- -

_Washington Navy Yard, NCIS Office_

_Friday Morning_

Gibbs stalked off the elevator with his ever-present coffee cup in hand. He took a sip, realized it was cold, and tossed it into a trash can. He held out his hand and McGee passed on a hot cup.

"OK people, what do we have?"

McGee said, "According to young Ms. Crandell, they were attacked by two people, a man and a woman, wearing Halloween vampire masks. They were a very violent couple, and she doesn't remember all the details of the attack, but eventually they were driven off, the girl helping the injured guy. She tried to claim they'd brought the shotgun, but in fact, it was Harrison Crandell's. Like many Marine officers, he's fascinated by guns and has a nice collection. He just bought this one a couple of days ago, a used Browning 12 gage over-and-under Superposed. He paid $1800.00 for it. I'm really surprised he wasn't able to kill the home-invaders with it."

"Isn't that kind of an expensive gun for a junior officer?" asked Ziva.

Gibbs said, "A Marine Captain can afford toys like that, especially if they're single and don't have too many other expensive hobbies."

"Oh. OK," said Ziva, "Captain Harrison Crandell should be out of ICU today. His condition has been upgraded to 'Guarded'. I expect to interview him this afternoon. I'll check out his finances this morning. And, as you know, we found little Samantha Crandell last night. She escaped without injury but she's with her sister at the hospital right now; they need to find someplace to stay. The hospital has been making noises about them being there unnecessarily."

"Ask the older sister, she would surely know if there's some other relative around. Otherwise, call Child Protective Services."

"OK. Tony and I have been investigating the senior Crandells. So far, nothing jumps up, no surprising expenses. They lived within their means; between the two of them, their means are pretty good, _were_, I guess I should say. Bank accounts and phone records seem perfectly normal. We're still digging, but I think I'd be very surprised if they we're involved in anything illicit."

Tony agreed, "Yeah, we're still looking, but so far they look about as aboveboard as anyone living near Washington DC could be."

Ziva wondered, "Could there be anything at Sealift Command? Some sort of blackmail or spy stuff?"

"Hmm," said Gibbs, "I doubt it. Sealift command moves Naval cargo and supplies around the world, it's a pretty dull operation as far the Navy is concerned. That's not to say that it isn't important, it's just not an adventure. I doubt they have all that many secrets either. Communication codes would be about the only thing I would worry about. Although, some of their cargo includes things like munitions, so theft and security is always a worry."

Ziva picked up the evidence bag with the two business cards. "This is interesting, but it may be irrelevant. This organization, Council Antiquities, Ltd., is a private company, based in London, England, that deals in antiques. Particularly very ancient ones. They have expertise in ancient languages and sometimes fund Archaeological digs. Museums know who they are – they do a lot of authenticating. They also get involved in negotiating between Museums and governments when there are allegations of theft involving artifacts. But most surprising, they run a series of boarding schools for gifted girls; but they are consistent, I have yet to find anyone who knows much about these schools."

Gibbs asked with a frown, "How did an antiques company end up running boarding schools?"

"No idea, boss. What's even more disturbing is that Council Antiquities is in turn funded by an outfit called The International Council of Watchers. The ICW, also based in England, is even more secretive. But, they've been called in by government agencies – including our government – to consult. About what I haven't been able to find because it's so highly classified, whatever it is. The only undisputed fact that I could find is they are a very old organization. Like centuries old. Even weirder, some of the British Government Officials that I talked to suggested that I don't inquire any further – as if they were somehow off limits."

McGee looked up, "Oh ho! Shades of conspiracy theories! Are you sure you haven't been reading the Weekly World News?"

"No, McGee. One card says 'Dawn Summers'. She's the newly appointed vice-president in charge of Research and Acquisitions. Seems awfully young for the job, but I'm told she's very good. She recently graduated from Oxford University with a doctorate in Ancient Languages. The other, Rupert Giles, took over as CEO a few years back, after a terrorist bombing in London took out almost all of the people at the Council Headquarters. They've been rebuilding ever since."

Tony frowned thoughtfully. He walked over to Ziva's desk and looked at the evidence bag. He said, "Rupert Giles. I just saw that name somewhere, where was it?"

Everyone looked blank.

"Got me," said McGee.

Ziva lifted her eyebrows and shrugged.

Gibbs said, "Should you think of something, you will let us know?"

"Yeah."

"OK," said Gibbs, "while this Antique Firm seems interesting, and is certainly worth following up, there is no indication that they are involved in home invasions, is there?"

A chorus of "No's," echoed around the cubicles.

"OK, so, is there any evidence that points to the actual perpetrators?"

"Well," said Ziva, "there are some fingerprints that don't belong to the family. One we identified as a petty officer third-class Zimmers. He was a cook whose last duty station was in Boston. But, according to our records, he died four months ago. Some kind of accident with a cooking utensil that resulted in him bleeding to death. His fingerprints being found at a recent crime scene in Virginia is just bizarre. His prints were on top of others, and they looked fresh. I mean, you know how old fingerprints get harder and harder to lift, these were easy. I'm leaning towards database error."

"Death by a cooking accident? How likely is that?" asked Tony.

"It wasn't a cooking accident, it was a cooking utensil accident. It occurred in a friend's garage, apparently while he was cleaning a charcoal grill."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound any more reasonable," said DiNozzo.

McGee tapped away industriously at his computer. After a minute or so he looked up and said, "There is one connection: Zimmer was a cook at the Boston Navy Yard. Our Captain, who was recently promoted, was the Executive Officer at the Navy Yard at same time. He got new orders to the Pentagon about ten months ago. They only thing is, that's pretty darn tenuous. Zimmer would likely know the name of the Executive Officer, but the reverse is probably not true. I mean, Captain Crandell might well have had reason to talk to the Chief Cook, you know, to approve menus and inspect the kitchens and such, but not with the guy who cooks the vegetables."

"So," said Ziva, "did Zimmer have it in for his old XO? And come down to murder him? I'd think that'd be hard to do while he was dead and buried."

Gibbs said, "Better check his grave, see if the corpse there is actually Zimmer's. Ziva and Tony, go!"

DiNozzo said to Ziva on their way out, "Grave duty, wonderful! You couldn't get us something good, no, you got us on the graveyard shift! Geez Ziva, what did I do to deserve this?"

"Tony, I thought 'graveyard shift' just means the midnight to eight AM work shift."

"It does, I was just doing a play on words."

- -

Tony and Ziva stared glumly at an obviously desecrated grave just outside of Boston. "Do you think there's a body down there?" asked Ziva.

DiNozzo stared at the disturbed soil and bits of broken casket that littered the ground. "It's hard to tell, isn't it? Now if there were such things as vampires, I'd say no, there's no body – a vampire dug his way out of the casket. But there isn't any such thing, is there? So there's only one thing to do; we've got to disinter the body."

"Oh no, no way am I gonna help dig up a grave!" exclaimed Ziva.

"You've been watching too many movies Ziva. _We_ aren't going dig, we're Special Agents. We'll watch while _other_ people dig. People who know how to operate power shovels."

"Oh, yeah, OK. You had me worried there."

"You got your camera? Get some pictures, we need to get a warrant.

It was only a few hours later that the grounds keeper shut off his John Deere backhoe and clambered off the rear seat. He joined the NCIS agents who were peering into the shattered remains of the casket he just unburied and deposited on the ground. They were shaking their heads, and when he looked, he shook his head too. "Damn," he exclaimed, "some sick fuck stole the body!"

- -

_Washington Navy Yard, NCIS_

_Early Tuesday Morning_

oo oo oo

I got into my office a six AM, Tuesday. As I started to go through the open case files, bringing myself up-to-date on everything that had happened since I went on vacation, I mused about my 'marriage'. We took care of the annulment on Monday morning. (I opened another case file and read while I simultaneously mused.) It was sad, I think both of us would have liked to continue on, but, me, the Director of NCIS, married to a foreign national? I just didn't think it would work. (I flipped to yet another case.) Of course, if he lived in Washington DC, or Virginia, or anywhere else nearby, I would have made it work. But London? Not possible. But we had each others phone numbers, and maybe in the future ...

"What the hell?" I exclaimed out loud to my empty office. I had reached the Crandell home invasion / murder case. I read through it and found – Rupert Giles' business card at the crime scene? This was going to take some explaining, and worse, some of that explaining was going to have be from me, in the worst case scenario anyway. Let's see, where was Rupert going to be this morning, oh yeah, Cleveland. I dug out his card and found the number.

- -

I was still on Nevada Time, which meant to me this was four in the morning. Except it was seven here in Cleveland. But I was still so buzzed by the previous four days that I couldn't get back to sleep. Ah, Jenny, Jenny, Jenny, I thought, wherefore art thou? I shook my head, no, that was not to be. We were adults, with big responsibilities and no time for halfway-across-the-world romance. It just wouldn't have worked. It was a drug-induced affair that was a lot of fun for a week but had long term difficulties. I got up and sat down at my desk, and opened my laptop. I started to go through the events of the past week, trying to catch up, trying to forget Jen, at least for now. The most important event would have been Heather Crandell. Her parents were murdered and her brother gravely injured right in front of her as she fought off two vampires in her kitchen. Xander and Buffy had retrieved Heather and her little sister; both were now ensconced in the downstairs guest room. Xander plus all the girls in the house were taking turns in relays to provide comfort and human contact to the bereaved sisters. The little one, Samantha, kept asking about her brother. According to the hospital records, which Willow had hacked into, (sigh), Harrison Crandell was out of the ICU and his prognosis was 'full recovery'. So, we could call him. It would do all of them good to talk to each other. Maybe I should extend an invitation to Harrison, but I'd better see what Heather thought first. Maybe she wouldn't be comfortable with him so close to being able to find out about her Slayer duties. On the other, he may already know, or at least suspect something strange.

My cell phone rang. When I saw who was calling, I brightened up considerably. "Jenny my dear, what brings you to call this early?" I said happily into the phone.

"Rupert," she said, a little colder than I expected, "is Heather Crandell one of your 'wayward' girls?"

"Why, uh, yes. Why do you ask?"

"Because one of your business cards was found in the kitchen of her murdered parents."

"Well, that's not surprising. Heather attended our summer program recently, and naturally my card would be there as an emergency contact number. In fact, Heather and her sister are both here, at the Cleveland home, right now. Why are you involved?"

"You have Heather and Samantha Crandell?" she asked. Again, she seemed a little cold to me.

"Yes, they needed someplace to stay while the investigation goes on. Plus, I think it highly unlikely that they will ever want to go back to their house."

"I see." She was thawing a bit. "NCIS is involved because both of Heather's parents were active duty Naval Officers, and Harrison is an active duty Marine Officer."

"Really? I didn't know that," I said, "have you made any progress on the investigation?"

"You know I can't talk about that."

"Oh yes, yes, of course, but I just wondered... Well, never mind," I said.

"OK, I'll get back to you later, Rupert."

"Goodbye Jenifer," I said.

I sat back in my chair, stared out the window, and thought about the implications of this development. This could be a very sticky wicket.

oo oo oo

I sat at my desk and stewed. But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed just a massive coincidence. I hoped. My phone rang. "Yes?"

"Director!" sang Abbey, "you're back! I'll be right up!" and she hung up without giving me a chance to answer.

A minute later Abbey sailed into my office, clanking moderately, with a manila folder in her hands.

"Good morning, Abbey," I said, "do you have the blood test results?"

"Yep. She laid a couple of papers on my desk. "I ran our standard tests, and I came up negative for any of the abnormal things we might be looking for. Everything seemed hunky dory, so I put it on the back burner. Till this weekend when I studied the numbers. You understand, it all looks normal, except one thing. You see the GHB level?" She pointed at a graph, "It's absolutely at the average normal level in the blood and urine sample for both you and Mr. Giles."

"Wait, I don't understand, I thought GHB was a drug? I didn't know there were normal levels."

"Well actually, every cell in our body contains gamma-hydroxybutyrate. It's classified as both a nutrient and a neuro-transmitter and is probably necessary for life – the precise mechanisms are not fully understood though. It's when you start adding more than you're supposed to have that strange things happen – everything from a good nights sleep, to a certain amount of loopiness, to forgetfulness, and finally, if you're really unlucky and ingest way more than you should, death. That's the side effect responsible for making it a controlled substance." Abbey danced a little as she explained, then did a quick ballet style death scene at the end.

"Oh," I said. "Somehow I missed that, I thought it was just a date-rape drug."

"Oh it is, in the right amount – or wrong amount, really. It also has a number of legitimate medical uses, so when used properly, it's good stuff."

"OK, so continue, what's the problem with the samples?" I asked.

"First, understand that normal levels are really very low compared to induced levels. So when I saw that the levels I measured were in the normal range, it didn't raise any red flags. Now in the saliva sample the GHB ratio was just a touch high. It's still in the normal range, you understand, so it doesn't really mean anything. Except, one problem, the ratio between the samples should all be exactly the same. There is no earthly reason for the GHB ration in saliva sample to be different from the blood and urine samples, unless you had just ingested some within the previous few minutes. But that makes no sense, if you had ingested any, it would have been the night before, right?"

"Right," I nodded, starting to feel like my world was going to come apart.

"So I got the original samples out of the evidence locker and ran the tests again. This time, all came out at exactly the correct ratio, across the board. All within the high end of normal range. This would normally mean nothing whatsoever, if it wasn't for the first test, which was different, even though it was from the same sample. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"Someone tampered with the lab results," I whispered, as I sank into a swamp of miasma.

"Yeah, somebody walked right into _my_ lab and faked the results on _my_ computer! Not good, Director, not good at all! Not only is it gravely dishonest to change lab results, it's criminally irresponsible! And worse yet, if we don't figure out exactly what happened and who did it, it could potentially screw up the chain-of-evidence on other cases, too."

Oh my aching head! "Can you explain to me why someone went to the trouble of changing the results of two out of three samples, when if they had just left well enough alone, we wouldn't have noticed anything wrong?"

"The only thing that fits, Director, is that they _thought_ the GHB levels would prove to be artificially high. Why did they think that? Only because they must have slipped something into your drink the night before and didn't realize that it had already metabolized into normalness by the time you took the samples. Then of course, the fact that they missed one sample could just be because I didn't test the saliva samples until the next day, Sunday morning. Probably didn't expect me to be at work then."

I closed my eyes in pain. _Oh Rupert,_ I thought sadly, _did you play me?_

- -

TBC

_Author's Notes:_

_OK, that's the end of the easy chapters. The next one (or two, or perhaps three) are much harder to write. For one thing, I know that I need at least one emotionally charged scene, and I'm slow at that kind of dialog. I've already written most of the last chapter, so all I need to do is get from Step 4 to Step 7, but it'll probably be about a week before I get the next chapter ready to post. But hang in there, this story has grabbed me by the short hairs and won't let go until I get it done._

_The second note: don't take my science seriously. I researched GHB on the net, then added stuff that sounds good (I hope), so the result is fiction, unless I got it right by accident._


	5. Chapter 5

**An Affair to Remember**

by

Lancer47

AKA

STFarnham

_See Chapter One for Disclaimer & Notes_

**Chapter Five**

_+flashback+_

_Las Vegas, Nevada_

_Monday Morning_

_oo oo oo_

My husband for the moment was dressed in a fine Seville Row custom tailored suit, with a crisp gray South Sea silk shirt and a regimental tie. He looked very handsome indeed. I was touched that he had dressed in his best suit for me. I was too for that matter, I had on my one Italian suit that cost more than I could afford on my government salary but I bought it anyway and skimped on lunches for a few months.

"All you need is a bowler and an umbrella and you'd be the spitting image of John Steed," I said.

He laughed and said, "I could do worse."

We sat on hard oak chairs, staring at the painted wood paneling, waiting for the very stern secretary to allow us entrance to the judge's chambers. It felt like waiting to see my high school principal – not a feeling I'd had in a while. Did I want to do this? No, I did not. But I had to.

-- -- --

She looked stunning. Her skirt just barely covered her knees sitting down, I kept glancing at her, following her curves with my eyes. Remembering, thinking, wishing we didn't have to do this. Still, it was necessary; my world and hers simply could not coexist. The Watcher's Council fielded agents who were judge, jury, and executioner, all rolled into one. But she was the very epitome of American criminal investigation and constitutional justice. I had learned a little about her job over the weekend, she took pride in telling me about the thousand or so Special Agents and another thousand technicians and other support personal, that all worked for her.

She had a very responsible job and I wished, oh how I wished, that I could explain to her about my one hundred and eighty Vampire Slayers, and the one hundred forty (so far) Watchers and support personal. And about the lives we saved everyday, the evil we stopped, and the apocalypses that we had stopped. But I couldn't. In fact, I couldn't even hint around. I was able to talk about the Slayer Academy a little, as long as I didn't call it that or explain what we actually did. I worked hard to appear truthful and not prevaricating, but I wasn't certain that I succeeded.

oo oo oo

He told me about his schools for gifted girls. He spoke with pride, but I sensed there was something he wasn't telling me. Apparently it wasn't anything bad, but there was something there. If only we had the rest of a lifetime to explore and visit. But now, there was nothing I could do about it.

The secretary told us to go in. The judge was cut from the same cloth as old Judge Bone; he was gruff, knew his law, made us feel like like naughty children, and got us out of there in the minimum time possible with all the i's dotted and the t's crossed.

We walked down the steps of the courthouse to our respective vehicles, I leaned into him, carefully slipped a small memento into his jacket pocket, and kissed him goodbye. I should have felt light-hearted and free, so why did I feel like I just killed something good?

-- -- --

She leaned against me, kissed me goodbye, and got into a government issue car with two of her security agents. I watched as she was driven away, feeling that I had just made a huge error.

"Giles, Giles! Over here!" Faith shouted at me. I walked over to the rental car, thinking that allowing myself to be chauffeured by a Slayer might well be another mistake.

"You've checked us out of the hotel?" I asked.

"Yep, we're good to go. I'm kinda sorry to see Mrs. G leave, she was good for you, I mean, uh, I'm sorry and shit."

"Thank you for your support, Faith. Now lets go to the airport, I think we've made a big enough hash in this city."

"Ha, yeah," she paused and took a long look at me, "My my, don't you clean up good! Not your usual gentleman farmer look, very dapper! You remind me of a TV character, but I can't remember which one."

I leaned back and mused about my short marriage.

_+end flashback+_

_Washington Navy Yard, NCIS_

_Tuesday Mid-Morning_

Tony looked up from his desk with his fingers snapping and said, "That's where I saw his name: a security detail Request for Information. The Director's security detail wanted background on someone named Rupert Giles."

"Did they say why?"

"No, but you know those guys, they're picked for their ability to keep their mouths shut."

Gibbs frowned deeply as he said, "I don't like coincidences."

"I suppose," said Ziva carefully, "there could be more than one Rupert Giles in the world."

McGee tapped away at the computer. He found the Security RFI in question, read it and looked up on the verge of panic. "It's the same Rupert Giles, unless there are two Council Antiquities each with a different Rupert Giles as the CEO."

"Ah hell," said Gibbs, getting up to see if the Director was in.

"Wait," said Tony, "what are we worried about? All we have is a business card at a crime scene. It could have come from anywhere, it probably has nothing to do with the crime, it could easily be a big coincidence. Maybe one of the Captains Crandell was buying an antique desk. Let's not go off half-cocked."

Gibbs said, "I hope you're right DiNozzo, but I'm not taking any chances."

Ziva wondered, "Half-cocked? Don't you either you have one or you don't? Unless that's some kind of attitude reference, either way it seems less than polite."

oo oo oo

Gibbs walked into my office, uninvited as per usual.

"Good morning Director, how was your vacation?" he asked me.

"It was great, thanks. So, anything not in the reports that I need to know?"

"I do have one question," he paused a moment, "who is Rupert Giles?"

I looked at Jethro while I decided what to tell him. My husband? My lover? Someone I met a the bar? A fellow vacationer that I had fun with? It was obvious that Jethro had come across my security detail's inquires and and wanted to know how to fit Giles into the murder scene, and me with Giles. Of course I didn't actually have to say anything, after all, I'm the boss. Still, one has to keep the ranks satisfied, especially one of my most senior agents, otherwise it could cause a certain amount of dissension, if not outright distrust.

"Rupert Giles and I spent most of the week together. I see by the reports that his business card, along with that of Ms. Dawn Summers, both of Council Antiquities, Ltd, but in this case on the business of the Sunnydale Memorial School for Girls, was found at the crime scene of the Crandell family home. Have you found any reason to suppose that Mr. Giles was somehow connected with the murders in question?"

"No, it may simply be coincidence."

But he looked like dog with a bone; he wasn't going to drop it until he had wrung out every morsel of marrow. How much do I tell him about the GHB and my lost memory? "You don't need the personal details of my vacation, but, I do suspect, mind you, only suspect, Mr. Giles of some kind of, something. I don't know what. Maybe only minor malfeasance, but with the connection to the Crandells maybe something major. So I want you to investigate him, his company, his school, his employees, his students, I want to know everything. Put together a major-case team if you think you need to."

He smiled happily, nothing like being given _carte blanche_ to gratify Gibbs.

"Wait a minute." I grabbed a blank sheet of paper and sketched Giles' tie. "He was wearing this yesterday, it's a regimental tie, something the English set great store by. See if you can identify the regiment from my sketch."

"So he is English."

I frowned, "You didn't know?"

"Well, we just connected his name to Las Vegas a minute ago. We had done some background into Council Antiquities, but it hasn't been a top priority as they hadn't seemed connected to the case."

I nodded, "OK, check with ICE on his immigration status, also the FBI should have a file on him."

"You got it."

"Oh, one more thing, the girls in the Crandell case, Samantha and Heather, are both staying at the Cleveland facility of the Sunnydale Memorial School." His jaw actually dropped. It was rare to see Jethro so surprised.

"Er, what? How did you know?"

"Because I just got off the phone with Mr. Giles in Cleveland. It seems the older girl, Heather, went through their summer program this year, and she asked them for a place to stay. Apparently, they were made welcome."

"I don't know what to say, the victim's family is staying with one of the suspects?"

"He's not a suspect, he's a 'Person of Interest'. So far at least."

"I'll kill two birds with one stone, we can do a search and interview the kids in-depth at the same time. Did you check out the list of things we found in young Heather's room? Swords, axes, sharp wooden stakes, super-sized numchucks, as well as bottles of clear liquid."

"That's a little strange. You say this was found in Heather's room? What about the other rooms?"

"Nothing out of place anywhere else in the house or grounds, except for a straw target set up in a clearing in the woods behind the house."

"Huh. Continue your investigation Jethro."

"I'm on it director," he said as he left. Well, it'll be interesting to see what Jethro uncovers. I thought about the fact that I had just declared war on my – what? What was Rupert Giles to me now? I didn't know, but whatever he was to me, I would make him angry, and I was sorry for that, but not sorry enough to stop this investigation.

_Cleveland, Ohio_

_Sunnydale Memorial School for Girls_

_Tuesday Morning_

-- -- --

"Willow," I asked, "have you a moment?"

"Sure, what is it, Giles?" Willow sat down across from me at my desk in the Cleveland House.

"How did it go with the cover-up at the NCIS lab?"

"Swimmingly," she answered with a sunny smile.

"Hmm, good." I paused and stared out the window some more. "In a bit of bad news, it turns out that Heather and Samantha's parents are Naval Officers, and her brother is a Marine officer. So NCIS is the lead agency investigating the murder of their parents."

"Uh oh," said Willow, "I didn't see that coming."

"Nor I. Of course, that would explain the framed photographs of Navy Ships on the walls of their home," said Giles.

"You didn't put two and two together?"

"Well, I didn't know what it meant. I mean, maybe Warships was a hobby. In the meantime, the NCIS investigators have found my business card at the scene, and they will find, if they haven't already, the brochure for our summer program, and maybe other things. But far worse, they may also find Heather's cache of weapons, unless she had the presence of mind to remove anything like that – which I kind of doubt what with her parents lying gutted on the kitchen floor, her brother bleeding out, and the police and ambulance crowding the house minutes later. And you know the NCIS is going to be as suspicious as a fox at a dog trials about us and our operations."

"Don't you have an 'in' now with NCIS? Can't you call up your ex-wife and talk about it?"

I glared at Willow. "It was an annulment, not a divorce. It's as if it never happened, legally. But the answer to your question is 'no'; if I tried your course of action it would only raise suspicions. You know that Willow, you're not thinking."

"Well, what about our Pentagon contacts? This is exactly the sort of thing that's for, isn't it?"

I answered slowly, "Yes. Yes it is. And yet, I have a sense of it being rather self-serving in this situation, if you see what I mean?"

"No I don't, we should call them now."

"Hmmm, perhaps you're right. But if we can head this off without involving the Joint Chiefs of the Pentagon, I would feel better. I would rather not have to call on authorities that are close to your President; when he was briefed on our organization and our activities, he didn't take it well. I don't think there's much trust between us."

"Ooookaaay Giles. But if it goes too far, we will call the Pentagon. I've researched the NCIS, they report directly the the Chief of Naval Operations and and the Secretary of the Navy. So I'm sure we could go high enough on the chain of command to put the kibosh on your ex-wife."

"Yes Willow, as a last resort. But remember, the Secretary of the Navy reports directly to the President; again I reiterate, **I** don't trust that man. If it were up to me I would have kept this administration in the dark."

"Yeah. So, in the meantime, maybe we should go to the first phase of our contingency plan: hiding anything that needs to be hidden in case of searches."

"Good idea, I'll get Buffy and Faith on that immediately. And the samples at the lab? How did you take care of them?"

"I changed the GHB levels in blood and urine reports so that they would not stand out."

"And the saliva samples too, I presume?"

"Urk, what? Saliva?"

"Yes, we gave samples of blood, urine and saliva."

Willow jumped to her feet and fled, saying over her shoulder, "Uh, I have to go check something, be back later."

-- -- --

Two hours later, close to noon, Willow slunk back into my borrowed office, and slithered into one of the upholstered chairs. She looked to be very low. "What is it Willow?" I asked.

"Oh gosh, you should just fire me now. I'll resign if that's what you want me to do."

"What?"

"I'm a blockhead Giles; a dolt, a certifiable moron; a hebitudinous cretin stuffed to overflowing with deadly pride – just change my name to Cletus and get it over with."

"I prefer Willow. Look, you're only human – mistakes, although unwelcome, will occasionally occur no matter how hard we try to prevent them," I said, wondering about the significance of 'Cletus' and making a mental note to look up hebitudinous, "now, be specific please."

"Oh! That NCIS lab girl, Abbey Sciutto, stupid girl works on the weekend! What kind of government employee works on weekends? Sunday even! Good grief! She tested your spit sample on Sunday morning, saw that it didn't match the previous samples, and immediately retested the whole lot. Now they know that someone, namely me if they only knew, went tip-toeing through the lab computer, changing this and that to suit my oh-so-stupid pride. I didn't have to change anything! I just thought I would make it absolutely certain that they wouldn't suspect anything if I tweaked the results to the middle of range, you know, just to make sure! If I had just stopped to think a minute, I would have known that it would have been better to do nothing! But no! I'm the great Willow the Red! I can do anything and no one can catch me!" she exclaimed bitterly.

"Willow," I said gently, "in the words of a great American comedian, stifle yourself. You made a mistake, get over it. Now let's plan what to do about it."

"I don't make mistakes, Giles. I get perfect scores, I know the textbooks front to back, I can rattle off the indexes from memory! I can't be _allowed_ to make mistakes, you know that." Her voice dropped to a whisper as what really bothered her finally came to the forefront.

"Willow, in the great scheme of things, we'll muddle on though. Now, what will the official reaction be?"

There was a knock on my door. I looked up and was a little short in my query, "Yes, what is it?"

"Uh, there's some guys at the front door with a search warrant," said Dawn, "what should we do?"

Willow said, "Well geez, that was fast."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**An Affair to Remember**

by

Lancer47

AKA STFarnham

_See Chapter One for Disclaimer & Notes_

**Chapter Six**

_Cleveland, Ohio_

_Sunnydale Memorial School for Girls_

_Tuesday Noon_

-- -- --

Willow and I followed Dawn down the hall. Faith rushed by in the other direction so I asked her in passing if the house was ready for a search. She answered me while walking backwards without stopping, "About ninety five per cent, I'd say. With a little luck, we'll get the rest in a another minute."

I turned to Willow and asked, "The hidden storage room? It's hidden?" She nodded yes. I continued, "And the computers? They can confiscate the computers and won't find anything?"

"Yes. All critical information is on the special server – the one Andrew insists on calling Server Forty-Seven even though we only have two servers – which is in the hidden room. That server is now disconnected from the network and I ran my special little program that wipes out all Server 47 references. And if I missed one, we can blame on the TV show."

"You're sure they won't be able to find anything on any of the computer's, what-do-you-call-ems, rams?" I asked.

Willow rolled her eyes at my clumsy nomenclature and said, "What do you think I am, an amateur? The computer network is clean and secure. They'll probably confiscate every computer they find in the house and analyze them down to bare metal and they'll discover nothing that I don't want them to discover. Not only that, but I'll have our network back up within an hour of acquiring new computers. In fact, we'd better order new computers anyway. There's no downside to abandoning and replacing the whole system as soon as they've left 'cuz even if they give back what they take it'll be awhile, and they might leave little surprises on them which we don't want. But most likely we won't ever see them again."

We reached the top of the stairs and Willow paused. She turned back to me with a downcast expression and said, "I'm sorry Giles, I made a mistake and it's only natural that you would question me in other sitches. But I did double check this time, and the network is safe."

She looked so woebegone that I had to pat her shoulder and comfort her, "It's all right Willow. Stop worrying, we'll get through this. After all, we have faced and defeated far more horrifying enemies than the Federal Government."

She gave me a wan smile.

At the bottom of the stairs I could see a half dozen Federal Agents standing on the front porch through the open front door. They wore labeled jackets that said 'NCIS' on them. We went by the living room arched opening and I could see Dawn's latest experiments in magic in full view. I snapped my fingers at Willow and pointed to it. She turned so she wasn't visible to the agents standing outside the door and with a few hand motions, plus a little chant, the supernatural paraphernalia disappeared with a small 'pop'.

I reached the door and interrupted the lead agent just as he was about to open his mouth and I asked, "May I inspect your warrant please?" He frowned as he handed me a paper.

I read each line carefully and slowly. As the agent's patience started to wear thin, I slowed down even further. Finally I said, "This warrant only covers the public spaces and the private rooms of the three persons named. The rest of the rooms, belonging to the girls living here but not named on this warrant, are not covered by the warrant. Therefore, you may not search their rooms."

The pugnacious one in front said, "I'm Special Agent Gibbs of the NCIS," he showed me his badge and continued, "stand aside English, we will start searching. I want a list of the inhabitants, then we'll get warrants for all."

"No," I said firmly, "if you don't know who lives here, then you're on a fishing expedition. And that, as we all know, is frowned upon by your judicial branch. You'll have to find out who lives here on your own. In the meantime, the girl's rooms will remain locked. We can't stop you from breaking down doors, but if you go that route you will open yourselves up to a Federal lawsuit." I hoped I wouldn't have to make good on that threat as I did not want anything to do with suing the government. That would surely put us in a bright public spotlight—not a good thing for an organization that works in the shadows.

I knew from watching American TV shows, as well as reading the paper, that sometimes Federal Agents used a search warrant as an excuse to rampage and tear up everything in sight; but other times they simply looked and moved things around and tried not to cause unnecessary damage. This search was of the latter variety. I assumed that the orders came down from the director, although I suppose it could simply be that these were professional investigators and this is how they typically worked.

I decided to follow Agent Gibbs around and try to irritate him. He gave his agents orders to start searching in the different rooms, but he himself just wandered and looked and apparently, contemplated his 'case'. He stepped into a room the real estate agent called the 'great room', although I thought 'living room' might be more apropos, and gazed at the edged weapons on wall rack.

"Are these weapons licensed?" he asked.

"No, why should they be? This is America, right?"

"Hmm," he murmured as he took a closer look. "Swords, pikes, and uh, halberds?"

Our youngest Slayer, Veronica, rolled her thirteen year old eyes in the that irritating manner that teens do so well and said sarcastically, "Can't tell the difference between a halberd and a voulge? What kind of military guy did you say you were?"

Gibbs pointedly ignored Veronica, but he did turn and look at another wall of weapons. Veronica pointed where Gibbs was looking and said, "Now that's a halberd!"

Gibbs nodded.

oo oo oo

I sat in the back of my government issue car and watched as Jethro and Giles verbally sparred at the front door. Since they couldn't see me through the tinted glass, I smiled – apparently they were well matched. After Giles had thoroughly read the warrant, he allowed my agents in. Good thing, since I could see that Jethro was about at the end of his patience and ready to use force. As I watched the house I could occasionally see one of my agents passing by a window as they diligently searched. I had given orders that this was to be a professionally conducted search, no tearing things up unnecessarily. Gibbs came out to report to me about ten minutes after the start.

He closed the door and sat next to me. "The warrant doesn't cover the girl's rooms," he said with a sigh, "because they are not individually named. But we can't find a list of who lives there, so I think we're SOL."

I thought about it. "We should be able to find out who lives there. Try the Cleveland Education Department, ICE in case there are any foreign nationals, and a reverse telephone book."

Jethro interrupted me, "Those aren't near as useful as they once were..."

"Yes, yes, cell phones, and worse, prepaid cell phones aren't listed in the reverse pages. So use your imagination Jethro, there must be some list somewhere in some government office."

"I kind of get the feeling that these people might be more secretive than most. But you know I'll keep trying. My preliminary report, though, is that they have thoroughly checked and removed anything that might be incriminating. Of course, it might help if I knew what you think they might be guilty of."

"The weapons charge isn't enough for you?"

"You and I both know that's a crock, all we can find is antiques. It was good enough for a friendly judge to issue a warrant, but I know you Jenny, and you can't possibly be overly concerned with swords and um, other old weapons, even in the hands of young women."

"Well," I said slowly, knowing that I was opening a can of worms, "you might look for GHB, or the components necessary to manufacture GHB."

"What? Where did _that_ come from?"

"Oh, something he said in Las Vegas. Don't press me on this Jethro, just look. But bear in mind it may be a red herring." He glared at me as he got out of the car. His expression was angry and concerned at the same time – I hadn't heard the last of that subject, I was certain.

I forced myself to relax and think. As I was searching through ways of getting through to this 'Council of Watcher's', I had a sudden thought: if Giles ended up in a Federal Prison, what kind of relationship could I maintain with him? He'd be a lot closer than London.

_God Maxie_, I thought in disgust, _get that man out of your head! _But he wasn't in my head, was he? He was in my heart, and I didn't know how to get him out. Of course, if he turned out to be a distributer of illegal drugs through a network of teenage girls – then I could easily evict him. But I had just spent an intimate week with the man, I would turn in my badge if he could fool me to that extent.

-- -- --

When Gibbs went out to talk to his boss, Willow and I watched the other agents search our house. Buffy, Faith and the younger Slayers watched and accompanied the agents in other rooms. We were careful to stand back and be quiet, but we didn't allow them unfettered access. Willow frowned as ferociously as she could as she watched them cart off our computers. They spent four hours searching until they finally called it off. I couldn't see who was in the big car with government plates parked out front, but I had a strong suspicion. I briefly thought about confronting her in the car, but I didn't think anything good could come from that. Besides, if I was honest with myself, I didn't want confrontation with her, just her. Of course, if she was instrumental in preventing me from doing my work I could get over my infatuation. On the other hand, I was reasonably sure that I would eventually prevail. After all, I had magic and Slayers on my side, and all she had were lawyers and men with guns.

oo oo oo

I watched for half an hour, then instructed my driver to take me back to the airport. On the flight back to Washington I thought long and hard about the next steps. It was another three hours until Gibbs called me with his report: a big fat zero. I instructed him to set up 24/7 surveillance of the house and occupants. That was going to eat into our manpower in a hurry, so I could only keep it going for a couple of weeks unless we got a major break.

-- -- --

Eventually, things settled down. A week after the 'raid' the continuous hustle and bustle of the Cleveland House was starting to get on my nerves. I began to long for the peace of my London flat. Xander called for a conference and so most of the original scoobies and I met in the so-called library.

"So," said Xander, "you all read my proposal, right? What do you think, should we just continue on as if nothing is happening, and go ahead with the summer training camp for Slayers?"

Faith nodded, "Yeah, sounds like a blast. I particularly like your idea for the machine gun course."

Buffy frowned, "Why the hell do you want all this gun stuff, Xand? You know how I feel about it, you know it doesn't fit our mission."

"Oh, Buffy, yes, you're right, except not so much. I think you're forgetting a few things. First of all, who could forget Darla coming at you with twin nine millimeters back in the old Bronze? Don't you think some newbie vamps are gonna think about arming themselves from the nearest gunstore? I mean, when Darla was vamped they didn't even have guns – or maybe they did but if so they were clumsy hard-to-load one shots. But suppose one or more of our Slayers, our charges, finds themselves in a shoot or die situation? Where they have to arm themselves from whatever is at hand and shoot back? Don't you think it would be best if they at least had passing familiarity with guns?"

"Xand, I've done okay without."

"I'm not suggesting we arm the Slayers with Uzis. And I don't think we need a huge armory of rifles and pistols. But do I think we should teach basic gun safety and marksmanship as part of our weapons training. I want to teach them how to avoid getting shot which requires an understanding of the capabilities of guns. I mean, I'd hate to have to bury one of the girls because she thought a couch or an ordinary wall would stop a bullet just because she saw it on done on TV. It's just good sense, just in case. Besides, with you Slayers it won't even take long, you guys take to new weapons the way babies take to the teat."

Faith laughed out loud, Buffy grinned sourly.

"And besides," Xander continued, "aren't you forgetting you've been around guns from time to time since the beginning of your Slayer gig? You do remember Jonathon's little crisis in the clock tower? And the tranquilizer gun for Oz, and the rocket launcher. I mean, by all means, let's not forget the rocket launcher."

Buffy said, "Hmmmm."

Willow said, "He's got a point, Buffy."

"Yep," agreed Faith.

I polished my glasses, put them back on and looked up. "I think, perhaps, it's a good idea. Gun safety, very important, familiarity is good, takes the mystery out. In an intense situation it could make the difference between death and life. Are you planning on including heavier ordinance, Xander?"

"I thought I'd have them fire some of those hand-held rockets like Buffy used in the Sunnydale Mall, just so they won't fumble if it becomes necessary in the future. Except them babies are kind of expensive, so not too many. Once they've fired one, we could just have them read the instruction manuals for other similar weapons. Maybe we can have Riley's group come through, in fact, they'd be good instructors. Even better, there could be joint operations with Riley in the future, and this way, the Slayers would be familiar with their weapons. It might make the difference between success and failure."

"Okay," said Buffy reluctantly, "I can see I've been outvoted here. But I want you to emphasize safety and defense over shooting things full of holes. So, what else are you going to teach our hellions at this camp of yours?"

"Oh, the usual, sword fighting, martial arts, woodcraft, policing the barracks, KP, cross-country tracking, etc. etc."

"Sounds like the Army to me," said Buffy.

"Yeah, it'll be Slayer heaven, don't you think?" mused Xander

Faith laughed and said, "He's got ya there B. Our gang'll eat that shit up."

"Well, as long as you include some shopping, I guess so. Well, except for policing the barracks."

"Hey, I won't forget they're girls first, we'll also have campfires and sing-a-longs and maybe other girly crap."

Xander received three withering glares. I pondered a moment and said to Willow, "We'll need to do some extra heavy duty magical security, too."

Willow nodded.

_Washington Navy Yard, NCIS_

_Monday Morning – Two Weeks Later_

oo oo oo

Gibbs came in to my office to report the latest from the surveillance team. "Jen, the only thing of note is some unusual movement among the Cleveland girls and also from some of the other Sunnydale group houses. A bunch of the older teenagers as well as some girls who aren't part of the group homes are gathering at a wilderness retreat in West Virginia. I'd like to expand our surveillance to include whatever the hell they're doing up there."

"I don't know Jethro, we're spread too thin as it is. Worse, I think the budget is about to break," I answered.

"Suppose we reduce the surveillance on the group houses, and shift it to the retreat."

"Sure, that'll work for now. Even so, I can only authorize another five days at our current strength. I need to get some of those agents on other cases."

He nodded agreement and went back to his desk to organize the new surveillance location. A few days went by and we started receiving excited reports from the field agents. I had reason to be curious, so I made sure I was on hand in the bullpen when the daily reports were received.

McGee opened up the latest batch of photos and exclaimed, "Holy hell! Are these bazookas?"

Gibbs stepped over and grabbed the photos. "No, this is a crate of RAAWS." At the blank looks he got from everyone he expanded it to: "Ranger Anti-Armour Weapon System. Otherwise known as the Carl Gustav recoilless rifle. Damn things are reliable as all get out and worse, available all over the world."

"And what's this one, boss?"

Gibbs sighed, "That's a case of M72 LAWs. Light Anti-tank weapon."

I looked over Gibbs shoulder and said, "I think these are the M190 training versions."

Jethro looked closer and agreed with me, "Yes, you're right."

Gibbs and I looked at pictures of girls training with swords and handguns, practicing martial arts, and cross-country hikes. He sat back and said, "It looks to me like we've got ourselves a terrorist training camp. I think it's time to whistle up some heavy backup and go visiting."

Those pics worried me, so I called the FBI for a joint operation. It took two days to organize a response team but it was finally done.

I set up a rendezvous at the Marine Corp base at Quantico for strategy and response and sent the team off on Wednesday morning.

That afternoon I got an angry call from Gibbs. It seems that a Colonel Collins, seconded to Homeland Security, had swooped in and taken over the operation. I actually breathed a sigh of relief and immediately reassigned all the agents to other, far more pressing cases. I also made certain the paperwork was complete.

_Washington Navy Yard, NCIS_

_Thursday Morning_

_oo oo oo_

I was called out by SECNAV early in the morning, well before sunrise. Something had gone seriously wrong with the raid on the alleged terrorist training camp, and some of the fallout was coming down on me. I pointed out that Homeland Security grabbed it from NCIS and the FBI on orders from SECDEF and they didn't follow our plan.

SECDEF said he didn't order anyone to take over and claimed this had been just the usual sort of turf war between agencies. Well, I didn't get my job by ignoring inter-agency politics, so I forwarded all the paperwork involved from yesterday afternoon, especially all the reassignments. That calmed down my superiors; they could easily recognize a properly done CYA evolution. Still, I had to attend a high-level meeting to hash out the blame.

When I finally got back from the White House, I called Gibbs. He was predictably irritated at being summoned to my office. I asked, "So Gibbs, how did you manage to snooker Homeland Security into taking over our raid?"

"Huh?"

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

"No, but I didn't fool anyone. They just swooped in and took over at the direction of the Secretary of Defense."

"Is that what this Colonel Collins said? SECDEF? Did you check?"

Gibbs sighed, "No, I didn't."

"Well, he pulled one over on you then." I let him stew for a moment before I added, "As it turned out, that was very very good for us."

"Huh?"

"Jethro, bafflement isn't a good look for you. Anyway, the raid is all over the Internet this morning."

"What! How did that happen?"

"Apparently the whole place was wired. Everything at the camp except the showers is live on Camp-Cam. Plus it was all taped and archived for our viewing pleasure."

"But, but how could that be? You mean they did weapons training out in the open?"

"No, Jethro. I mean they didn't have any weapons. Other than some practice swords made of plastic, I believe."

"I'm confused."

"Yeah, well take a gander at this." I tapped my keyboard and turned on the large TV on the wall. A YouTube selection came up, I pressed play.

The picture showed a group of about thirty girls, all aged around sixteen or so, gathered around a bonfire singing '_Koom-by-ya_'. Even though the only light came from the fire, we could identify many of the girls as coming from the Cleveland House. And Xander Harris, leading the singing, was readily identifiable by his eye patch.

"What the hell kind of terrorist training is this?" Gibbs asked petulantly.

"Just wait."

On the screen, teams of armed men wearing black from head to foot suddenly erupted from the shadows under the trees. The peaceful scene turned to bedlam as the girls started screaming in fear. The Federal Agents attacked and threw the girls down and secured their hands and feet with plastic ties. Then it was over. The attackers wore raid jackets with "HOMELAND SECURITY" clearly on the back.

"Uh, that's not what I planned to do."

"Yeah, it gets better. Watch this." I pushed play on the next one.

The next video showed the Agents lining up the girls and shoving them down on their knees. One agent started down the line asking each one their name and forcibly taking their fingerprints. Not a one said anything at all until one girl said, "Bite me!"

The agent swung his rifle butt at her head. She went down into the dirt, a spray of blood clearly visible on screen.

I paused the video and said, "That girl, you know who her father is?" Gibbs didn't answer my rhetorical question. I continued, "Brigadier General Watkins, stationed over in the Pentagon. You know what General Watkins doesn't like to see? His daughter being hit in the head with a rifle wielded by a Federal Agent. Especially while she's at summer camp wearing nothing but a tube-top and a wrap-around skirt that clearly shows she isn't packing any weapons of any kind. You know who else doesn't like to see that? Other parents, teachers, students, Priests, Ministers, Rabbis, politicians – both conservative and liberal – in fact just about everyone except some nut in Iraq who called it 'Allah's will'. These videos have set some kind of one-night record for number of viewers. The White House switchboard has been ringing off the hook. This has not had a good effect over there in Homeland Security headquarters."

"I should think not."

"Some of the shit has rolled downhill onto me by the way. Not as much as your friend Collins, but enough that I've been called on the carpet by SECDEF. Like those girls, Jethro, I'm not a happy camper."

"But the weapons! Surely when they found the RAAWS and the rifles and the guns, surely that would mitigate some of this!"

"What weapons?"

"What?"

"There was nothing out of place for a summer camp for teen girls in the Appalachians. There was TV, DVDs of mostly chick flicks, games, volleyballs, canoes, camp counselors, a dining hall... Need I go on?"

"They set a trap for us."

"Who did?" I asked.

"That damned Giles. Those people set us up!"

"Well, maybe. So where did those pictures come from?"

"Our guys took those! I wasn't there, but we know what went on!"

"Hmm," I said flipping through the stack of surveillance photos, "look at the pictures of the crates of anti-tank guns."

Gibbs took a look and shrugged.

"They're on a truck heading in the direction of the camp, but not in the camp. The truck is nondescript and not identifiable as having anything to do with the camp. The pictures that are the clearest include girls shooting bows and arrows – not the preferred tools of terrorists – and pictures of girls playing with paintball guns. It looks like they're really enjoying themselves. Now this picture here, the only one of a girl shooting a RAAWS, we can't see her face. And it's just one person in the middle of a field. There's no common background with the others and she's dressed entirely differently. I'm not even sure it's a girl, could be a guy with long hair wearing falsies stuffed under his fatigues."

Jethro grunted.

"Jethro, are you sure it was _our_ Agents who sent these?"

"Not anymore. I'll check it out."

"You do that."

After he left, I picked up the phone and called the Cleveland number that Giles had left me. A young female voice answered, "Buffy's Bait Shack and Crematorium! Dust to dust service!"

"Uh," I said, "is Mr. Giles in?"

"Ooops! Who's calling please?"

"Jennifer Shepherd."

"Oh, you're his... well never mind. He's not here."

"So where is he?"

"He went back to London. He mumbled something about finding a quiet place to sleep, except he used some of those words they use in England."

"Oh, I see. I have his London number, thanks."

"Sure, he should be there by now, he left four days ago."

"Okay, thanks, bye." I hung up and looked for Rupert's London number. I glanced at the map on my office wall and saw that it would be 4:00 PM in London. As I reached for the phone, it rang. It was SECDEF again. There was some kind of flap going on and I was needed in MTAC.

I spent the rest of the day coordinating a search for a known terrorist in Washington, along with my counterparts at the Pentagon, CIA and FBI and elements of the local police. It was midnight by the time it was over. I went back to my office and lay down on the couch but I was too frazzled to sleep so I decided to call Rupert. It would be six AM in London, just when he normally awoke.

_London, England_

_Giles' Flat_

_6:20 Friday Morning_

-- -- --

I sat down at my breakfast table overlooking the back garden and sipped a cup of freshly brewed Lapsang Souchong tea. Not my everyday tea, but it worked wonders to dispel the fog from my head on the mornings after particularly trying nights. I perused the London Times as I carefully decapitated one of a pair of soft-boiled eggs nestled in Wedgewood egg cups. The phone rang. I sighed and reached over to the kitchen extension. "Good morning," I said into the mouthpiece, without too much irritation I hoped.

"Good morning Mr. Giles," said a voice I knew well.

"Why good morning Jennifer," I answered with delight, "what bring you to call across the ocean today?" As if I didn't know.

"I just wanted to congratulate you on a move well-played, even though you missed your intended target."

"Whatever are talking about?" I had to be careful with my answers as I suspected this call was being recorded by at least three different government agencies.

"I think you know. I am curious about the origin of the those photographs though. The ones that so conveniently came in as part of our own surveillance."

"Surveillance?" I asked with just a touch of innocent surprise in my voice, "Are you surveiling the girls? Why?"

"Something happened in Las Vegas, Rupert, and I want to know what. Plus, you're hiding something, and I want to know that too."

"I can assure you, Jennifer, that nothing outside of our normal business occurred in Las Vegas. Except for the marriage episode of course. But you know all about that."

She was silent for long enough that I wondered if she would ever answer me.

Finally she asked, "I find it curious that of all the girls at your summer camp, the only one that talked back to the Agents just happened to be the daughter of an Army General. Would you know anything about that?"

"Perhaps she felt more protected than the others, but other than that, you'd have to ask her."

"Oh I'd love to ask her, but as she's surrounded by eager Army CID agents, I'm not going to get the chance. Her father does not hold me in high regard today."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I still hold you in high regard."

"Thank you. I've withdrawn all further surveillance of your operations, but the investigation will continue until we can clear you of suspicion, or..."

"So you believe that I am capable of criminal behavior, Jennifer? And worse, you believe that I could involve teenage girls in these imaginary crimes?"

"I don't know what to think, Giles. That's why we investigate."

"Hmm," I said noncommittally.

"I did want to assure you that the planned raid by my agents would have been a much simpler affair. Agent Gibbs intended to drive in openly and look around and talk, although he would've had the exit roads blocked. You understand that the pictures of weapons that somehow ended up in our hands was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. We were caught offguard be some officious little empire builder over in Homeland Security who decided to take over he operation at the last minute."

"Well, I wouldn't know anything about any weapons, other than plastic swords for our SCA reenactments and the paintball guns to let off steam." I carefully calculated my tone of injured innocence for the benefit of any third party listeners.

We talked a little longer about nothing important before saying goodbye. I finished my breakfast and my second cup of tea before calling Xander back in Cleveland. Even though it was past midnight over there, I knew from experience they kept late hours. This time I used one of Willow's enspelled phones so as to remain unheard by any government functionaries. I told Xander about the cessation of surveillance and we congratulated each other on a plan well-executed when Xander was interrupted by some upset young Slayers coming through the door like a herd of elephants. He told me to hold on. A minute later he picked up the phone and said, "We were too quick to gloat Giles. There was some kind of explosion in Washington near the Capitol building and some NCIS Agents just picked up two of our girls. I don't know why or what they were doing there, but I'll find out and call you back."

TBC

_Author's notes:_

_I am aware that the 'Season 8' Buffy comics has a plot line that accuses our Slayers of terrorism. However, I have not read them, so I don't know Joss's plot. _


	7. Chapter 7

**An Affair to Remember**

by

**Lancer47**

AKA STFarnham

_See Chapter One for Disclaimer & General Notes_

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

"I like trying to get pregnant, I'm not so sure about childbirth."

-Lauren Holly

* * *

Previously:

"_We were too quick to gloat Giles. There was some kind of explosion in Washington near the Capitol building and some NCIS Agents just picked up two of our girls. I don't know why or what they were doing there, but I'll find out and call you back."_

_

* * *

_

_+ flashback: earlier in the afternoon +_

Eva and Ava were newly assigned Slayers and very proud of the fact that they were assigned to Washington, DC. They went through special training to enable them to recognize police and Federal Agents and others of that ilk so as to stay further in the shadows than most Slayers needed to. But today, as they walked along a busy street dodging tourists, Ava spotted a young man walking a little oddly. "Eva," she said quietly, "do you see anything 'off' about that guy?"

She took a quick glance and said, "Nope." But then she took a second look, and sniffed the air, and said, "Maybe. What's that odd smell?"

Ava surreptitiously moved closer and cautiously pulled in a deep breath through her nose. She paused to allow Eva to catch up and said, "Plastic explosives, once you smell it, you never forget it."

"How come no one else has noticed?"

"Slayer enhanced senses, of course. In open air like this, most would never notice."

"Hmmm, what should we do?"

"Hang back, for one. For another, we need backup."

"Don't look now," said Eva, "but we've picked up a tail. Federal, I think."

"Oh jeez, that's all we need. Let's do some shopping while I call Xander." She flipped her cell phone open and called. After a couple of minutes of conversation, she said, "Help's three hours away. We're on our own for now."

"Oh shit. How about our Pentagon contact?"

"Xander is on to them even as we speak."

"For that matter, why don't we call the cops? This is their thing, after all."

"That's being done, too. But we'll keep following until others are here."

"Well, what can go wrong with that plan?"

"Plenty."

Eva and Ava continued to follow their suspect who headed towards the Washington Mall. As he passed the reflecting pool his pace picked up, as if he saw his intended target. Even though the target wasn't known, the slayers decided this was a good place to stop him. They stepped up to either side of him, even with a small crowd around, and

Eva grabbed the man's hands while Ava ripped his jacked down the front. Once it was clear that he wore a suicide vest, they flipped him over and threw him as far as they could into the reflecting pond on the mall. They turned and nonchalantly stepped behind other tourists and strolled slowly along. The bomber yelled as he flew through the air and was more than fifty feet away when his explosives went off, scattering bloody bits across the water amid screams and yells from the tourists.

* * *

Director Shepherd appeared to be fully relaxed in her seat in MTAC. But if anyone observed her closely, they would have noticed tightened muscle groups, narrowed eyes, lines in her forehead, and several other indications of internal stress. Around her the MTAC crew was very busy, tense messages quietly being sent around to different chairs and different agencies and different field agents. Jen tried to take in everything, but it would have been impossible for any one person to absorb every fact coming over the screens. Still, she was getting a good overview, and that's just what was needed.

A CPO seconded from the Navy said over his private channel to the Director, "Ma'am, I've got it, coming up on screen two in five seconds."

"Thank you Chief," Jenny replied.*

She looked at the screen and watched as it went to snow, then black, then a low resolution image of the scene at the Washington Mall from twenty minutes earlier came up. The Chief commented the image with arrows and notes in real time, so Jenny had no trouble identifying the soon to be exploded presumed terrorist. She watched as two girls apparently met with him. Jen couldn't see what was happening: there were too many people around and the quality of the tape was less than desirable. But it wasn't many seconds later when the man suddenly shot out across the reflecting pool, a good fifteen or twenty meters. Did the girls throw the man? Even for two girls working together that was a prodigious throw. She reflected on the athleticism of Giles' girls. 'Is there a connection?' she wondered.

It happened that three NCIS agents had been following the girls. They were taken by surprise when the two they were following suddenly threw a man out over the reflecting pool. And taken completely aback when he exploded. So they did the only thing they could think of: they arrested the two girls. Jenny nodded at the screen, 'Good,' she thought, 'an interview should get to the bottom of this.'

The director reviewed the tape several more times and finally came to a conclusion. She picked up her phone asked the legal department to obtain warrants for the arrest of Buffy Summers and Rupert Giles.

_+ End Flashback +_

* * *

Giles flew to New York the next day. He rented a car, drove towards Washington, and checked into a conveniently located Marriott in Virginia in order to try to catch up on sleep and reduce his jet lag. He took off his jacket and fell to the bed with his tie only half off.

About two hours later somebody softly knocked on his door. He groaned, got up off the bed, and opened up without any of his usual precautions. His ex-wife walked in.

He was very surprised. "Jenny! I didn't expect you here. Are you planning to arrest me?"

"No," she replied as she walked by him, very closely, and turned around to face him. "Although I am in the process of obtaining a warrant for your arrest."

"So why are you here, in my hotel room?"

"I'm not entirely convinced of your involvement. In fact, we're still investigating."

"I see." He couldn't help but notice that she was wearing a very short, loose summer dress with a plunging neckline. He also was intensely aware that her breasts were unconstrained beneath the thin fabric. His eyes locked onto her chest and he started breathing heavier.

"This is an unofficial visit, _very_ unofficial, very private, and very personal. I am so very confused about you, I thought I'd wear a different hat or no hat at all, so to speak, today." She raised her arms up over her head and reached back behind her neck. Giles gaze focused more intently on her breasts as they rose up. Then she unclipped the clasp behind her neck and released her hands. Her dress fell to the floor and puddled around her feet, leaving her dressed only in a tiny lacy thong. Giles couldn't help but notice her thatch of red pubic hair that puffed out to either side of the tiny strap of cloth between her legs. He stepped to her and ran his left hand down her back to her buttocks as he kissed her while his right hand fondled her front, sliding down and slipping between her and her thong.

"I've missed you so much, Jenny, so very much."

"Mmmm," she replied. She undressed him, he finished undressing her, and they fell onto the bed.

* * *

- 000 -

"Now pay attention Director, I'm not through yet," said Abby. "My curiosity was aroused by my second set of tests. Now the standard test shows us a whole rainbow of answers, it includes in the results compounds that are similar to but not the same as pure GHB. So I ran the samples through a gas chromatograph to really find out what was there. And what I found is just weird. You weren't fed true GHB after all, it was a derivative of GHB. And I even know the approximate amount. Here, look at this chart. Here's a graph: the time is on the x-axis, and the amount you must have been given is on the y-axis to have this amount left when you took the samples.

"Now here I could go on about anabolic reactions and metabolic pathways, but I suspect you don't care about the mechanism. So what happened, is this derivative was introduced the night before the sample was taken, probably between ten and midnight, and it broke down over time. What it did though, is, well, I'm not entirely sure, but it might have been revved up enough to affect your memory, targeted memories perhaps. I don't like this, I really want to find the original formula and study it before I can truly decide what the effect of this derivative was."

Jenny frowned some more. She said, "Thank you Abby. I'll see what I can do to get a sample."

Clearly dismissed, Abby went back to her lab.

Jenny sat back and thought, and got more and more angry.

* * *

Director Shepherd sat in the darkened MTAC and studied a satellite image on the huge screen in front of her. She occasionally thumbed her remote to toggle a super-imposed map on top of the image. She heard Jethro come in and sit down beside her.

"Recognize this?" she asked.

Gibbs replied glumly, "Yeah, the so-called 'summer camp' for the Sunnydale group."

"Yes. But look up there." She indicated a set of structures to the west of the camp using a laser pointer. "See this camp? It looks military, but I can't find anyone who will admit to running it. I was able to confirm that much that it _is_ US Government property. But this camp is about three miles from the girls place. Here's a public trail that winds between the two properties, and on the satellite image what looks like a trail between the two camps. But much of it is under trees so I can't be absolutely certain it connects. It doesn't show up at all on the map, anyones map: street maps, topographic surveys, nowhere. And yet, there are tantalizing glimpses – so much so that it would be highly unlikely that there _isn't_ a trail between the two."

"So what does that mean?"

"Those girls are all fine athletes – we've determined that much for sure – so they could probably run that three miles in thirty minutes or less, no problem. I've been searching through the archives and I can't find a complete set, but a few photos have shown some of the girls headed in that direction, and I found one with some headed back. And more intriguing, I found one that showed what could be some of them at the anti-tank range. But I can't tell for sure because the image was a low-horizon shot. It would appear that the satellites in this area are often tasked to be looking elsewhere whenever anyone is at this camp."

"Do you mean to tell me that the Sunnydale Memorial Summer Camp is sponsored by the Pentagon?" Jethro asked incredulously.

"Maybe. Still doesn't tell us who sent us those bogus pictures. Or why."

"This is starting to smell like some sort of conspiracy, Jenny. And I really don't like where this is heading."

"You and me both, Jethro. For now, all we can do is keep digging."

* * *

oo oo oo

"Jethro, how is the investigation of the IWC going? Have we found Rupert Giles yet? Or Ms. Summers? Or anything at all?" I asked.

"No, nothing. I keep running into roadblocks thrown up by other people and agencies. I think the Pentagon is behind most of it."

"The Pentagon?" I asked wonderingly, "who at the Pentagon?"

"I don't know," Jethro answered.

My secretary rushed down the stairs and handed me a message. I read it. Gibbs asked, "Anything wrong?"

"No, apparently I have an appointment at the Pentagon with the Chief of Naval Operations."

"Well, isn't that coincidental."

"Yessss."

It took about an hour to get to the Pentagon from the Navy Yard. I went directly to the CNO's office and told the secretary that I was expected. She got on the phone and about thirty seconds later the CNO himself came out of his office and greeted me. That worried me, he'd never done that before. Always in the past he made me wait just to show me who's the boss – or maybe he was actually that busy – either way I'd always had to wait.

"Good morning, Director Shepherd," he said, "today we have a little surprise for you. Well, it's a big surprise really. At any rate, Admiral Fitzsimmons will see you in his office. I want to assure you that Fitz isn't crazy, that everything he is about to tell you is true. See me before you leave."

And he guided me into another office and closed the door with him outside and me inside. I turned around and was about to introduce myself to Admiral Fitzsimmons when I noticed two other people in the room. I frowned and said, "Rupert Giles and Buffy Summers. What is going on? Why are you sitting comfortably in well upholstered furniture in an Admiral's office instead of being held at a much less comfortable brig?"

"Director Shepherd I presume?" said the Admiral sitting behind the desk, who I had snubbed unintentionally.

"Oh, sorry sir, yes. I'm Director Shepherd. How do you do sir?"

"And I am Admiral Fitzsimmons. I'm fine, thank you for asking. Please, have a seat." He pointed to a chair next to Giles.

"I'm not certain I wish to sit next to Mr. Giles as I believe he might possibly be a terrorist, or at least is some sort of sympathizer." I saw Giles grimace out of the corner of my eye.

"Director," said the Admiral, "trust me when I tell you this, but he is not a terrorist, nor does his organization have anything whatsoever to do with terrorists or the aims of terrorists. The International Slayers and Watchers Council is outside the politics of countries such as this one. Indeed, I have it on good authority that they consider politics to be petty, not worth worrying about."

"Uh, what? How can that be? We identified two girls who go to this Cleveland School as associating with a suicide bomber! You remember, the one here on the mall? The guy set off his bomb within sight of the White House? And two naval officers found dead in Virginia were somehow connected with this man, and that one's sister!"

"You are wrong on all counts Director, they were attempting to stop a terrible thing. And they actually succeeded. If it wasn't for them it would have been far far worse."

"Excuse me sir, but how can I believe that?"

"I believe it is my turn now," said Rupert as he turned towards me. "Dear Jenny, this is going to be hard for you to believe, but the world is a far older place than you know. Before mankind, the world was not a paradise, it was a hell inhabited by demons. Over a millennia, those demons lost their purchase on this Earth, and left this reality. But they left behind certain magics, certain creatures, demons who fed off the first humans, and infected, so to speak, other humans. These came to be known as vampires."

I stared at Rupert with dumbfounded amazement. Why wasn't the Admiral calling security to come arrest this lunatic?

Buffy spoke up for the first time, "He really loves doing this part."

Rupert continued, "Thousands of years ago, no one actually knows how long ago, a young woman was imbued with the power and knowledge to defeat vampires and demons. She was the first Vampire Slayer. When she died, another was called. And so it continued for thousands of years. _'Into each generation a Slayer is born, one girl in all the world, a Chosen One. One born with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires..._"

Buffy interrupted, "But that's out of date now. We have a lot of Vampire Slayers now, although we don't care to advertise the exact number – not even to our friends. But there's even more evil for us to hunt, too, so it evens out."

I looked at Buffy. Was she too part of this madness? She added, "I'm the senior Vampire Slayer and you don't believe a word of this, do you?"

I shook my head and said, "No. Admiral, are you going to call security or shall I?"

Admiral Fitzsimmons said, "No one is calling security. I assure you Madam Director, that every word you heard, is true. And we will prove it." He reached down under his desk and picked up a thick metal rod, with some difficulty since it was heavy. He handed it to me and I nearly dropped it. But I heaved it up and inspected it. It was a one inch diameter chunk of iron rebar, about three feet long. The Admiral instructed me to give it to Buffy. Buffy took it easily from my hands and casually bent it into a 'U' shape. Then she handed it back to me. As my mind went blank, I sat down. Rupert guided me to the couch or I would have landed on the floor. I still held the bent bar in my lap. I tugged at it a few more times, to no effect.

The Admiral said, "I have some tapes for you to watch, and again, I assure you, and so will the CNO as well as SECNAV and POTUS if you so desire, that these are straight security tapes, not Photoshopped or otherwise modified in any fashion whatsoever."

The Admiral's couch was easily big enough for all four of us. I ended up between Buffy and Giles, which I had not intended, but there it was. They had about a half an hour of various tapes to to show me, and when they were done, my worldview was permanently altered.

* * *

_Front Steps of the Pentagon_

_Early Friday Afternoon_

oo oo oo

Much later, I walked down the steps with Rupert and Buffy. I couldn't think of anything to say, actually, I was very nearly in a state of shock. I was about to signal my driver when Giles said, "Shall we retire to my hotel room and discuss this? You need some coffee my dear."

I replied, "What I need is a stiff drink." Rupert looked at me with a strange expression. "But that's not gonna happen, is it? After all, that's how this whole affair started."

"Well no," said Rupert, "not actually. If you'll come with us, I have the means with which to restore your memory, the missing hour or so in Las Vegas."

"Yes Rupert, we shall do that straightaway." I was suddenly very angry again – all this time, all this time, he could have made me whole and didn't?

While Willow prepared her potions and spell reversal equipment, I watched Jenny. She was brittle, nearly in a state of shock. I could see that she was under a tremendous strain just trying to keep her cool. And then there was Willow: I could see she was of two minds about this: one, she thought it was a mistake to do this; two, she really hated tampering with memories in the first place and was still beset with lingering irritation at me and Dawn for persuading her to research it.

Once Willow was ready, and Jenny was lying back on the couch, as relaxed as we could get her, it only took about five minutes for her memories to return. Watching her expressions go from relaxed, to curiosity, to fear, to combat ready, to combat, to puzzlement, back to fear, to extreme fear, as she relived the events in Las Vegas, was disconcerting, to say the least.

* * *

oo oo oo

_+ Jenny's missing hour +_

I grinned to myself as I aimed for the lingerie department. I could see Agent Smith getting was more and more agitated as the displays became more and more risqué. He started to hang back, and when I turned to look at a display of three topless mannequins wearing the tiniest little lacy thongs I had ever seen, he turned beet red.

"Uh, ma'am?" he asked manfully, "perhaps I should wait at the front? Unless, I mean, no one's going to attack you here, are they?"

"Go ahead Agent Smith," I relented, "there's a small waiting area by the front. I should be about twenty minutes." He was so easy to rattle, poor guy. In the meantime, I really did need some new underwear and I didn't care to have my security detail file reports on my preferred brands and styles.

I stopped by a rack of sheer teddies and hummed softly to myself as I fingered the fabric. I kind of wondered just who I was planning to impress with this exceedingly sensual and suggestive little garment. But, what the heck, maybe I'd find out later, I thought, as I took it from the rack, as well a few other skimpy underthings including several of the little thongs in a variety of colors, and went to the checkout.

I had just replaced my credit card in my purse when I heard what sounded like a faint scream and some yelling coming from the back of the store. I glanced at the clerk, she looked puzzled. I looked towards the front to see if I could see Smith, but he must have been way on the other side of the store by now. When a second, rather more forceful yell echoed from the back of the store, I said to clerk, "Here's my hotel and room number, deliver these for me." I wrote down the info on my receipt.

I turned resolutely towards the back, pulled my jacket aside, put my hand on my gun, but didn't draw it yet, and rushed towards trouble. I ran past the dressing rooms and found myself at a small loading dock. The doors were open, but there was a security grill baring the opening. I looked at the arrangements with approval, somebody had thought out how such a space would be used and kept secure. The grill had a manual lock on the inside, which couldn't be reached from the outside. Once I went through the door, I'd have to return around the building or wait for someone to let me back in. But then, there was another scream and a yell, and somebody yelled: "Slay her! I'm gonna kill you and dance on your corpse!"

Well, that was enough for me, I drew my weapon, pulled the slide back and let it snap forward to load and cock my gun, opened the security grill and cautiously made my way around the corner, across the alley and through a rough _ad hoc_ opening in a wood fence.

I saw six young women, no, some were girls, and one older man who was mostly watching, fighting a group of men wearing some kind of Halloween masks. I couldn't see that anyone had guns, they were armed with sticks, knives and swords, of all things. I didn't stop to think, I just pointed my gun at the masked men and yelled as loudly as I could, "FEDERAL AGENTS! FREEZE!" That should do it, I thought with satisfaction.

Damn, I thought wrong. What I had thought of as the victims looked at me more in annoyance than anything else. I hadn't stopped any of them from fighting. I looked a little closer and realized that the fighting was a lot rougher than I had thought at first, these girls were really hitting hard and getting hit hard! Then one of the masked men attacked me! So I shot him. He slowed a little. I shot him again, right in the heart. He didn't slow much more at all. What the hell? I figured he must be wearing a bullet-roof vest, so I shot him yet again, this time in his right eye. He _still_ didn't stop, although he did complain about my shooting him. By then I was out of time – he grabbed me around my waist and neck with vice-like grips. I could now see that he wasn't wearing any kind of mask, his face was disfigured and he had actual fangs, and his fangs were headed towards my neck. I hit him using every trick I had learned. I used the dirtiest Krav Maga strikes I could and nothing would dislodge him. His strength and toughness was astonishing, even as blood dripped from his empty eye socket. I even fell back on the old knee to the crotch trick, but even that hardly fazed him. Then, then, well, he just burst into dust! I fell back into the arms of a man, luckily the one who looked like a man, and not a disfigured one. In front of me, holding a wooden stake, was a fierce looking brunet in black leather. She nodded at me then turned to strike at another. I watched in amazement from the arms of the still unidentified male as the girl thrust her stake into the heart of another attacker, and he too burst into dust. By now I felt like screaming, but I didn't. I wondered if Agent Smith missed me yet. I watched the girls, and some of them couldn't have been more than sixteen or so, mop up the rest.

When it was over, I shakily removed myself from the arms of this stranger, holstered my weapon, and started asking questions. I fear I got a little angry. A _little_ angry? No, a _lot_ angry. They explained to me what was going on. Vampires? Vampires existed? But I kept arguing, I wanted to call the Pentagon, get the CNO and Jethro both in on this. They kept trying to calm me down but I just got more and more agitated and argumentative. After a particularly angry exchange, the girl in black grabbed me, and handcuffed me with my own handcuffs! I started to scream bloody murder but she gagged me. Then a younger woman, about twenty two or so, burnt a little twig in front of me, said some words in Latin, and I was out of it.

Except now I was looking at the scene in a sort of double-vision thing. I could see my actions, and their actions. My body was following directions, but I could not understand how or what they were doing. And so I watched as Mr. Giles and I drank a couple of drinks, got fed the GHB derivative by one of the girls, and we both took it I saw, and neither of us knew it. We laughed at each others jokes, I said I had a bag of new lingerie which should be in my room by now which could be put to good use for our pleasure. We got along, we really enjoyed each other's company. He laughed, then he asked me to marry him. I laughed yes. We ducked out of the lounge and the rest I had already figured out.

_+ End Flashback +_

_

* * *

_

oo oo oo

Back at my office I sat down behind my desk and deliberated.

I got the CNO and SECNAV on a conference call and I asked for my orders. They told me what they had already decided. I didn't like it, but I had no wiggle room, at all.

I told my secretary to get Agent Gibbs in for a conference. He came in and sat without a word. I said, "The case is closed."

"WHAT? How can that be?"

"It's classified well above your level, be thankful. The perpetrators were identified and they died."

"They were killed? By whom? When? Why isn't any of this in a report somewhere?"

"It _is_ in a report somewhere – down in the bowels of the Pentagon, classified to a level you've never heard of."

"So they must have been terrorists, and they were dealt with using our new unconstitutional methods. Can I at least know why they attacked Captain Crandell's house?"

"They were killed in a shootout before they could explain themselves. And complaining about unconstitutional methods is rich, coming from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you believe I'm stupid?"

"Of course not, the opposite is true."

"Then why did you think I wouldn't figure out what happened to the murderers of your family?"

"Okay, but I know that I'm guilty, if they ever catch me with enough proof, I'd go to prison for the rest of my life. I'd go willingly in those circumstances, even though I hope the proof is never found, or even suspected."

"Except by me."

"Yeah, and you've got something to hang me with, if you want to. But for the government of the United States to _officially_ get into the business of ignoring the Constitution is another matter entirely, one that I don't care for. So, I ask again, what happened?"

"I can't tell you. But mark the case closed with the notation to see the DRI Department at the Pentagon for further questions."

"Would they answer my questions?"

"No, they would not."

"I sincerely wish I didn't think that somebody is covering up something!"

"Well, in way I suppose they are, but if you knew what it was, you would approve, Jethro."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"

"Because it's classified."

Jethro got up and left, anger evident in his every movement.

* * *

Back down in the bullpen, he gathered his troops and said, "The case is closed."

After listening to everyone's objections, he said, "It's out of our hands. But, I want to find out about the DRI department, I want to find out about Riley Finn and his merry men, I want to find out about Buffy Summers and Rupert Giles and their girls. But, we cannot investigate any of this openly."

"Then what are we supposed to do?"

"While we investigate other cases, if you should come across references to these people, jot it down. Preferably in an illegible manner, and let me know. But no follow-ups, no reports, nothing in writing, no obvious investigating."

"Okay boss," they agreed.

* * *

A few weeks passed. NCIS opened several quite ordinary investigations: a murder of a sailor just weeks out of boot camp; the burglary of a supply depot; an investigation into the destruction of a cruiser's reduction gears; a charge of sexual misconduct of a Chief Boatswains Mate; an investigation of a sailor killed by a large grinding wheel that self-destructed; and the disappearance of a Senior Petty Officer on liberty in Bayonne, New Jersey.

During all this Ziva and DiNozzo continued to look into the SWCI and the DRI, at least at first. But Gibbs noticed the quiet reports were tapering off. In fact, he hadn't heard a thing for more than a week. He stopped by DiNozzo's desk and asked, "Did you find anything more of Buffy Summer's life before she moved to Sunnydale?"

Tony looked up in confusion, "Uh, who?"

"Buffy! Buffy Summers! The cute blonde?"

"Uh, I don't know who you're talking about boss," he replied, wondering if one them was losing their mind and hoping it wasn't him.

Gibbs frowned and looked at Ziva. Ziva said, "Oh, the blonde chick, Tony. She was here last month for a consultation. But Gibbs, that was finished and filed, no further action, the dying plants were natural, not sabotage or neglect."

Gibbs wondered if he were going mad, then had a sudden horrible thought. He said, "Oh yeah, forget about it." He turned a went up the stairs to the director's office.

Storming in, he demanded, "What the hell is going on? Is Willow Rosenberg screwing with...?" But he broke off suddenly when he couldn't remember why he needed to talk to the Director.

Jenn asked, "Yes Jethro? What is it?"

"Uh, I had an important question, it's on the tip of my tongue..." He trailed off and turned away. Suddenly turning back, he said, "Oh yeah, we're almost out of Form 685 sierra stroke delta. But I would prefer to go back the stroke charlie forms, the deltas don't have enough room for listing the witnesses."

"Now Jethro, you just add the one of the 685 supplemental forms to the back..."

"But those are blank! They were misprinted!"

The Director raised an eyebrow. "Blank? You think maybe that could have been on purpose?"

"Oh, I see. Gives us plenty of room for whatever is needed. Gotcha. Well, we still need to order more."

"I'll get right on it, don't worry."

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

oo oo oo

I watched sadly as Gibbs left my office. I knew exactly how he felt and I wished we didn't have to do it to him. But Giles' arguments were decisive and unassailable. Besides, this time we didn't have to use Willow's specific memory eraser – Willow said all she had to do was to magnify the effects of the _Spontaneous Demonic Disbelief Spell_, which she explained was sort of like background radiation, except on a magical plane. She went on to explain to me that the effects of the disbelief spell generally made people believe in magical things that _weren't_ true, and _not_ believe magical things that _were_ true. It took an eye-opening experience to reverse the disbelief, and it was surprisingly easy to reassert the original spell. Especially on people who didn't want to believe in the first place. Which means that I remember what I wish I could forget, while Gibbs forgot what he wanted to remember. But when my memory was erased in Las Vegas, I desperately wanted it back – and now I just wanted to...

Oh, forget about it.

**The End**

_A/N_

_* The official NCIS website tells us that MTAC stands for 'Multiple Threat Assessment Center' and it used to be called ATAC, but that's about all. Given that NCIS is inextricably entwined with the Navy, it seems reasonable that some of the support personnel _could_ be active duty Navy. But I have no inside information – I'm just writing fiction._


End file.
